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DEPARTMENTAL 
DITTIES,  BALLADS, 

BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS 

AND  OTHER  VERSES 


BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 


New  York 
MANHATTAN    PRESS 

474  West  Broadway 


Annex 

CONTENTS.      ^Ar-L 

DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES. 

PAGE 

Prelude 7 

General  Summary 9 

Army  Pleadquarters 11 

Study  of  an  Elevation,  in  Indian  Ink 13 

A  Legend  of  the  Foreign  Otince 14 

The  Story  of  Uriah 16 

The  Post  that  Fitted 17 

Public  Waste 19 

Delilah 21 

What  Happened 24. 

Pink  Dominoes 27 

The  Man  who  could  Write 29 

Municipal 31 

A  Code  of  Morals 23 

The  Last  Department 36 

BALLADS. 

The  Ballad  of  East  and  West 41 

The  Last  Suttee 47 

The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Mercy 51 

The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Jest 56 

The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone 61 

The  Lament  of  the  Border  Cattle  Thief y^ 

The  Rhyme  of  the  Three  Captains 75 

The  Ballad  of  the  "  Clampherdown  " 81 

The  Ballad  of  the  "  Bolivar  " 84 

The  English  Flag Sj 

"  Cleared  " 92' 

An  Imperial  Rescript 97 

Tomlinson 100 

BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS. 

Danny  Deever iir 

"  Tommy  " 113 

"  Fuzzy  Wuzzy  " 116 

Oonts  ! I  iS 


2230784 


4  Contents 

PAGB 

Loot 121 

"  Snarleyow  " 1 24 

Soldier,  Soldier 127 

The  Sons  of  the  Widow 1 29 

Troopin ' 131 

(runga  Din 133 

Mandalay 136 

The  Young  British  Soldier 139 

Screw-Guns 143 

Belts 145 

Ford  o*  Kabul  River 148 

Route  Marchin* 1 50 

OTHER  VERSES. 

To  the  Unknown  Goddess 155 

The  Rupaiyat  of  Omar  Kal  Vin 1 56 

La  Nuit  Blanche 1 58 

My  Rival 161 

The  Lovers'  Litany 163 

A  Ballad  of  Burial 165 

Divided  Destinies 1 67 

The  Masque  of  Plenty 1 69 

The  Mare's  Nest 175 

Possibilities 176 

Christmas  in  India 178 

Pagett,  M.  P 181 

The  Song  of  the  Women 183 

A  Ballade  of  Jakko  Hill 185 

The  Plea  of  the  Simla  Dancers 187 

The  Ballad  of  Fisher's  Boarding-House 189 

"As  the  Bell  Clinks" 193 

An  Old  Song 196 

Certain  Maxims  of  Hafiz 198 

The  Grave  of  the  Hundred  Head 203 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days 206 

The  Overland  Mail 207 

What  the  People  Said 209 

The  Undertaker's  Horse 211 

The  Fall  of  Jock  Gillespie 213 

Arithmetic  on  the  Frontier 215 

One  Viceroy  Resigns 210 


Contents  5 

PAGE 

The  Betrothed 224 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities 228 

Griffeii's  Debt 231 

In  Springtime 234 

Two  Months 235 

The  Galley-Slave 236 

L'Envoi 240 

The  Conundrum  of  the  Workshops 241 

The  Explanation 243 

The  Gift  of  the  Sea 244 

Evarra  and  His  Gods 247 

The  Vampire 251 

Our  Lady  of  the  Snows    252 

Recessional 254 


/  HA  VE  eaten  your  bread  and  salt, 
I  have  drunk  your  water  and  wijie, 

The  deaths  ye  died  I  have  watched  beside^ 
Afid  the  lives  that  ye  led  were  mine. 

Was  there  aught  that  I  did  not  share 

In  vigil  or  toil  or  ease, — 
One  joy  or  woe  that  I  did  not  know, 

Dear  hearts  across  the  seas  ? 

I  have  written  the  tale  of  our  life 
For  a  sheltered peopW s  mirth, 

In  jesting  guise — but  ye  are  wise, 
And  ye  know  what  the  jest  is  worth. 


GENERAL  SUMMARY 

We  are  very  slightly  changed 
From  the  semi-apes  who  ranged 

India's  prehistoric  clay  ; 
Whoso  drew  the  longest  bow, 
Ran  his  brother  down,  you  know. 

As  we  run  men  down  to-day. 

"  Dowb,"  the  first  of  all  his  race, 
Met  the  Mammoth  face  to  face 

On  the  lake  or  in  the  cave, 
Stole  the  steadiest  canoe, 
Ate  the  quarry  others  slew, 

Died — and  took  the  finest  grave. 

When  they  scratched   the  reindeer-bone, 
Some  one  made  the  sketch  his  own, 

Filched  it  from  the  artist — th^n, 
Even  in  those  early  days, 
Won  a  simple  Viceroy's  praise 

Through  the  toil  of  other  men. 

Ere  they  hewed  the  Sphinx's  visage 
Favoritism  governed  kissage, 
Even  as  it  does  in  this  age. 

9 


10  General  Summary 

Who  shall  doubt  the  secret  hid 
Under  Cheops'  pyramid 
Was  that  the  contractor  did 

Cheops  out  of  several  millions  ? 
Or  that  Joseph's  sudden  rise 
To  Comptroller  of  Supplies 
Was  a  fraud  of  monstrous  size 

On  King  Pharaoh's  swart  Civilians  ? 

Thus,  the  artless  songs  I  sing 
Do  not  deal  with  anything 

New  or  never  said  before. 
As  it  was  in  the  beginning, 
Is  to-day  official  sinning, 

And  shall  be  for  evermore. 


DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES 


ARMY  HEADQUARTERS 

Old  is  the  song  that  I  smg — 

Old  as  my  unpaid  bills — 
Old  is  the  chicken  that  kitinntgars  bring 
Men  at  dak-bungalows — old  as  the  Hills. 

Ahasuerus  Jenkins  of  the  "  Operatic  Own  " 
Was   dowered  with  a  tenor  voice  of  super- 

Santley  tone. 
His   views   on    equitation   were,    perhaps,    a 

trifle  queer  ; 
He  had  no  seat  worth  mentioning,  but  oh  !  he 

had  an  ear. 
He  clubbed  his  wretched   company  a   dozen 

times  a  day, 
He  used  to  quit  his  charger  in  a  parabolic  way, 
His  method  of  saluting  was  the  joy  of  all  be- 
holders, 
But  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  had  a  head  upon  his 

shoulders. 
He  took  two  months  to  Simla  when   the  year 

was  at  the  spring, 
And  underneath  the  deodars  eternally  did  sing. 
He  warbled  like  a  bulbul,  but  particularly  at 
Cornelia    Agrippina   who    was    musical    and 

fat. 

II 


12  Departmental  Ditties 

She  controlled  a  humble  husband,  who,  in 
turn,  controlled  a  Dept., 

Where  Cornelia  Agrippina's  human  singing- 
birds  were  kept 

From  April  to  October  on  a  plump  retaining 
fee, 

Supplied,  of  course, /^r  mensem,hy  the  Indian 
Treasury. 

Cornelia  used  to  sing  with  him,  and  Jenkins 
used  to  play  ; 

He  praised  unblushingly  her  notes,  for  he 
was  false  as  they  : 

So  when  the  winds  of  April  turned  the  bud- 
ding roses  brown, 

Cornelia  told  her  husband  : — "  Tom,  you 
mustn't  send  him  down." 

They  haled  him  from  his  regiment  which 
didn't  much  regret  him  ; 

They  found  for  him  an  office-stool,  and  on 
that  stool  they  set  him, 

To  play  with  maps  and  catalog-ues  three  idle 
hours  a  day, 

And  draw  his  plump  retaining  fee — which 
means  his  double  pay. 


Now,  ever  after  dinner,  when  the  coffee-cups 

are  brought, 
Ahasuerus  waileth  o'er  the  grand  pianoforte ; 
And,  thanks  to  fair  Cornelia,  his  fame  hath 

waxen  great, 
And  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  is   a   power   in   the 

State. 


An  Elevation  in  Indian  Ink      13 


STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION,  IN  INDIAN* 
INK 

This  ditty  is  a  string  of  lies. 

But — how  the  deuce  did  Gubbins  rise  ? 

PoTiPHAR  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Stands  at  the  top  of  a  tree ; 
And  I  muse  on  my  bed  on  the  reasons  that  led 
To  the  hoisting  of  Potiphar  G. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  seven  years  junior  to  me  ; 
Each  bridge  that  he  makes  he  either  buckles 
or  breaks, 

And  his  work  is  as  rough  as  he. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  coarse  as  a  chimpanzee  ; 
And  I  can't  understand   why  you  gave  him 
your  hand 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  dear  to  the  Powers  that  Be ; 
For  They  bow  and  They  smile  in   an  affable 
style 

Which  is  seldom  accorded  to  Me. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  certain  as  certain  can  be 
Of  a  highly-paid  post  which  is  claimed  by  a 
host 

Of  seniors — including  Me. 


14  Departmental  Ditties 

Careless  and  lazy  is  he, 
Greatly  inferior  to  Me. 
What  is  the  spell  that  you  manage  so  well, 
Commonplace  Potiphar  G.  ? 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee, 
Let  me  inquire  of  thee, 
Should  I  have  riz  to  what  Potiphar  is, 
Hadst  thou  been  mated  to  Me  ? 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE 

This  is  the  reason  why  Rustum  Beg, 

Rajah  of  Kolazai, 
Drinketh  the  "  simpkin  "  and  brandy  peg, 

Maketh  the  money  to  fly, 
Vexeth  a  Government,  tender  and  kind. 
Also — but  this  is  a  detail — blind, 

Rustum  Beg   of  Kolazai — slightly   backward 

native  state — 
Lusted  for  a  C.  S.  I., — so  began  to  sanitate. 
Built  a  Jail  and  Hospital — nearly  built  a  City 

drain — 
Till  his  faithful  subjects  all  thought  their  ruler 

was  insane. 

Strange  departures  made  he  then — yea,  De- 
partments stranger  still. 

Half  a  dozen  Englishmen  helped  the  Rajah 
with  a  will, 

Talked  of  noble  aims  and  high,  hinted  of  a 
future  fine 

For  the  State  of  Kolazai,  on  a  strictly  West- 
ern line. 


A  Legend  of  the  Foreign  Office    15 

Rajah  Rustum  held  his  peace  ;  lowered  octroi 

dues  a  half; 
Organized  a  State  Police ;  purified  the    Civil 

Staff ; 
Settled   cess   and   tax  afresh  in  a  very  liberal 

way; 
Cut  temptations  of   the   flesh — also   cut   the 

Bukhshi's  pay ; 

Roused  his  Secretariat  to  a  fine  Mahratta  fury, 
By  a  Hookum  hinting  a  supervision  of  dasturi  ; 
Turned   the     State    of    Kolazai    very  nearly 

upside-down ; 
When  the  end   of  May  was  nigh,  waited  his 

achievement  crown. 
Then    the   Birthday    Honors    came.     Sad    to 

state  and  sad  to  see, 
Stood  against  the  Rajah's  name  nothing  more 

than  C.  I.  E.  / 


Things  were  lively  for  a  week  in  the  State  of 
Kolazai. 

Even  now  the  people  speak  of  that  time  re- 
gretfully. 

How  he  disendowed  the  Jail — stopped  at  once 
the  City  drain  ; 

Turned  to  beauty  fair  and  frail — got  his  senses 
back  again  ; 

Doubled  taxes,  cesses,  all ;  cleared  away  each 
new-built  tha?ia  ; 

Turned  the  two-lakh  Hospital  into  a  superb 
Zenana  ; 


i6  Departmental  Ditties 

Heaped  upon  the  Bukhshi  Sahib  wealth  and 

honors  manifold  ; 
Clad  himself  in   Eastern   garb — squeezed  his 

people  as  of  old. 
Happy,  happy  Kolazai !     Never  more  will  Rus- 

tum  Beg 
Play  to  catch  the  Viceroy's  eye.     He  prefers 

the  "  simpkin  "  peg. 


THE  STORY  OF  URIAH 

"  Now  there  were  two  men  in  one  city ;  the  one  rich       /' 

and  the  other  poor."  ) 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta  | 

Because  they  told  him  to.  j 

He  left  his  wife  at  Simla 

On  three-fourths  his  monthly  screw  : 

Jack  Barrett  died  at  Quetta  \ 

Ere  the  next  month's  pay  he  drew.  j 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta. 

He  didn't  understand  j 

The  reason  of  his  transfer  i 

From  the  pleasant  mountain-land  :  J 

The  season  was  September,  I 

And  it  killed  him  out  of  hand. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta, 

And  there  gave  up  the  ghost,  ' 

Attempting  two  men's  duty  ; 

In  that  very  healthy  post ;  i 

And  Mrs.  Barrett  mourned  for  him  j 

Five  lively  months  at  most.  ; 


The  Post  That  Fitted  17 

Jack  Barrett's  bones  at  Quetta 

Enjoy  profound  repose  ; 
But  I  shouldn't  be  astonished 

If  now  his  spirit  knows 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  Himalayan  snows. 

And,  when  the  Last  Great  Bugle  Call 

Adown  the  Hurnai  throbs, 
When  the  last  grim  joke  is  entered 

In  the  big  black  Book  of  Jobs, 
And  Quetta  graveyards  give  again 

Their  victims  to  the  air, 
I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  man 

Who  sent  Jack  Barrett  there. 


THE  POST  THAT  FITTED 

Though  tangled  and  twisted  the  course  of  true  love, 

This  ditty  explains. 
No  tahgle's  so  tangled  it  cannot  improve 

If  the  Lover  has  brains. 

Ere  the  steamer  bore  him  Eastward,  Sleary 

was  engaged  to  marry 
An  attractive  girl  at  Tunbridge,  whom  he  called 

"my  little  Carrie." 
Sleary's  pay  was  very  modest ;  Sleary  was  the 

other  way. 
Who  can   cook  a   two-plate   dinner  on  eight 

paltry  dibs  a  day  ? 

2 


i8  Departmental  Ditties 

Long  he   pondered  o'er  the   question  in  his 

scantly  furnished  quarters — 
Then  proposed  to   Minnie  Boffkin,  eldest  of 

Judge  Boffkin's  daughters. 
Certainly  an  impecunious   Subaltern  was  not 

a  catch, 
But   the   Boffkins   knew  that  Minnie  mightn't 

make  another  match. 

So  they  recognized  the  business,  and,  to  feed 
and  clothe  the  bride, 

Got  him  made  a  Something  Something  some- 
where on  the  Bombay  side. 

Anyhow,  the  billet  carried  pay  enough  for  him 
to  marry — 

As  the  artless  Sleary  put  it : — "Just  the  thing 
for  me  and  Carrie." 

Did  he,  therefore,  jilt  Miss  Boifkin — impulse 

of  a  baser  mind  ? 
No  !   He  started  epileptic  fits  of  an  appalling 

kind. 
(Of  his  modjis  operandi  only  this  much  I  could 

gather : — 
"  Pears'  shaving  sticks  will  give  you  little  taste 

and  lots  of  lather.") 

Frequently  in  public  places  his  affliction  used 
to  smite 

Sleary  with  distressing  vigor — always  in  the 
Boffkins'  sight. 

Ere  a  week  was  over  Minnie  weepingly  re- 
turned his  ring. 

Told  him  his  "  unhappy  weakness"  stopped 
all  thoui-ht  of  marrvino:. 


Public  Waste  19 

Sleary  bore  the  information  with  a  chastened 

holy  joy,— 
Epileptic   fits    don't    matter   in   Political  em- 
ploy- 
Wired  three   short  words  to  Carrie — took  his 

ticket,  packed  his  kit — 
Bade  farewell  to  Minnie  Boffkin  in  one  last, 
long,  lingering  fit. 

Four    weeks    later,    Carrie    Sleary  read — and 

laughed  until  she  wept — 
Mrs.  Boffkin's  warning  letter  on  the  "  wretched 

epilept. " 
Year  by  year,  in  pious  patience,  vengeful  Mrs. 

Boffkin  sits 
Waiting   for   the    Sleary    babies    to    develop 

Sleary's  fits. 


PUBLIC  WASTE 

Walpole  talks  of  "  a  man  and  his  price." 

List  to  a  ditty  queer — 
The  sale  of  a  Deputy-Acting- Vice. 

Resident-Engineer, 
Bought  like  a  bullock,  hoof  and  hide, 
By  the  Little  Tin  Gods  on  the  INIountain  Side. 

By  the  Laws  of  the  Family  Circle  'tis  written 
in  letters  of  brass 

That  only  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  can  man- 
age the  Railways  of  State, 

Because  of  the  gold  on  his  breeks,  and  the 
subjects  wherein  he  must  pass; 

Because  in  all  matters  that  deal  not  with  Rail- 
ways his  knowledge  is  great. 


20  Departmental  Ditties 

Now  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  had  labored  from 
boyhood  to  eld 

On  the  Lines  of  the  East  and  the  West,  and 
eke  of  the  North  and  South  ; 

Many  Lines  had  he  built  and  surveyed — im- 
portant the  posts  which  he  held ; 

And  the  Lords  of  the  Iron  Horse  were  dumb 
when  he  opened  his  mouth. 

Black  as  the  raven  his  garb,  and  his  heresies 

jettier  still — 
Hinting  that  Railways  required   lifetimes  of 

study  and  knowledge  ; 
Never  clanked  sword  by  his  side — Vauban  he 

knew  not,  nor  drill — 
Nor  was  his  name  on  the  list  of  the  men  who 

had  passed  through  the  "  College." 

Wherefore  the  Little  Tin  Gods  harried  their 

little  tin  souls, 
Seeing   he  came  not  from  Chatham,  jingled 

no  spurs  at  his  heels, 
Knowing  that,  nevertheless,   was  he  first  on 

the  Government  rolls 
For  the  billet  of  "  Railway  Instructor  to  Little 

Tin  Gods  on  Wheels." 

Letters  not  seldom  they  wrote  him,  "having 

the  honor  to  state," 
It  would  be  better  for  all  men  if  he  were  laid 

on  the  shelf  : 
Much  would  accrue  to  his  bank-book,  and  he 

consented  to  wait 
Until  the  Little  Tin  Gods  built  him  a  berth 

for  himself. 


Delilah  21 

**  Special,  well    paid,   and    exempt   from    the 

Law  of  the  Y'lity  and  Five, 
Even  to  Ninety  and  Nine  " — these  were  the 

terms  of  the  pact : 
Thus  did    the    Little    Tin    Gods    (long   may 

Their  Highnesses  thrive !) 
Silence  his  mouth  with  rupees,  keeping  their 

Circle  intact ; 

Appointing   a    Colonel    from     Chatham    who 

managed  the  Bahamo  State  Line, 
(The  which  was  one  mile  and  one  furlong — a 

guaranteed  twenty-inch  gauge). 
So  Exeter  Battelby  Tring  consented  his  claims 

to  resign, 
And  died,  on  four  thousand  a  month,  in  the 

ninetieth  year  of  his  age. 


DELILAH 

We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are  dead 

and  done, 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  depraved  Ulysses  Gunne. 

Delilah  Aberyswith  was  a  lady — not  too 
young — 

With  a  perfect  taste  in  dresses,  and  a  badly- 
bitted  tongue, 

With  a  thirst  for  information,  and  a  greater 
thirst  for  praise. 

And  a  little  house  in  Simla,  in  the  Prehistoric 
Days. 


22  Departmental  Ditties 

By  reason  of  her  marriage  to  a  gentleman  in 

power, 
Delilah    was   acquainted    with  the  gossip   of 

the  hour; 
And  many  little  secrets,  of  a  half-official  kind, 
Were    whispered    to    Delilah,    and    she    bore 

them  all  in  mind. 

She  patronized  extensively  a  man,  Ulysses 
Gunne, 

Whose  mode  of  earning  money  was  a  low  and 
shameful  one. 

He  wrote  for  divers  papers,  which,  as  every- 
body knows, 

Is  worse  than  serving  in  a  shop  or  scaring  off 
the  crows. 

He  praised  her  "queenly  beauty  "  first  ;  and, 
later  on,  he  hinted 

At  the  "  vastness  of  her  intellect  "  with  compli- 
ment unstinted. 

He  went  with  her  a-riding,  and  his  love  for  her 
was  such 

That  he  lent  her  all  his  horses,  and — she 
galled  them  very  much. 

One  day,  They  brewed  a  secret  of  a  fine  finan- 
cial sort ; 

It  related  to  Appointments,  to  a  Man  and  a 
Report. 

'Twas  almost  vv^orth  the  keeping  (only  seven 
people  knew  it), 

And  Gunne  rose  up  to  seek  the  truth  and 
patiently  ensue  it. 


Delilah  23 

It  was  a  Viceroy's  Secret,  but — perhaps  the 
wine  was  red — 

Perhaps  an  Aged  Councilor  had  lost  his  aged 
head — 

Perhaps  Delilah's  eyes  were  bright — Delilah's 
whispers  sweet — 

The  Aged  Member  told  her  what  'twere  trea- 
son lo  repeat. 

Ulysses  went  a-riding,  and  they  talked  of  love 

and  flowers  ; 
Ulysses    went    a-calling,    and     he    called    for 

several  hours ; 
Ulysses  went  a-waltzing,  and  Delilah  helped 

him  dance — 
Ulysses  let  the  waltzes  go,  and  waited  for  his 

chance. 
The  summer  sun  was  setting,  and  the  summer 

air  was  still, 
The   couple   went  a-walking  in   the   shade  of 

Summer  Hill, 
The    wasteful    sunset    faded    out    in    turkis- 

green  and  gold, 
Ulysses    pleaded  softly,   and  .  .  .  that    bad 

Delilah  told  ! 

Next  morn,  a  startled  Empire  learnt  the  all- 
important  news  ; 

Next  week,  the  Aged  Councilor  was  shaking 
in  his  shoes ; 

Next  month,  I  met  Delilah,  and  she  did  not 
show  the  least 

Hesitation  in  affirming  that  Ulysses  was  a 
"beast." 


24  Departmental  Ditties 


We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are 

dead  and  done, 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  most  mean  Ulysses 

Gunne ! 


WHAT  HAPPENED 

HuRREE  Chunder  Mookerjee,  pride  of  Bow 

Bazar, 
Owner  of  a  native  press,  "  Barrishter-at-Lar," 
Waited  on  the  Government  with   a  claim   to 

wear 
Sabers  by  the  bucketful,  rifles  by  the  pair. 

Then  the  Indian  Government  winked  a  wicked 

wink. 
Said  to  Chunder   Mookerjee :  "  Stick  to  pen 

and  ink. 
They  are  safer  implements  ;  but,  if  you  insist. 
We  will  let  you  carry  arms  wheresoe'er  you 

list/' 

Hurree  Chunder  Mookerjee  sought  the  gun- 
smith and 

Bought  the  tuber  of  Lancaster,  Ballard,  Dean, 
and  Bland. 

Bought  a  shiny  bowie-knife,  bought  a  town- 
made  sword. 

Jingled  like  a  carriage-horse  when  he  went 
abroad. 


What  Happened  25 

But  the  Indian   Government,  always   keen  to 

please, 
Also  gave  permission  to  horrid  men  like  these — 
Yar  Mahommed    Yusufzai,   down    to    kill  or 

steal, 
Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer,  Tantia  the  Bhil. 

Killar  Khan  the  Marri  chief,  Jowar  Singh  the 

Sikh, 
Nubbee    Baksh    Punjabi    Jat,    Abdul    Huq 

Rafiq— 
He  was  a  Wahabi  ;  last,  little  Boh  Hla-00 
Took  advantage  of  the  act — took  a  Snider  too. 

They  were  unenlightened   men,  Ballard  knew 

them  not, 
They  procured  their  swords   and  guns  chiefly 

on  the  spot, 
And    the  lore  of  centuries,    plus    a  hundred 

fights, 
Made   them  slow  to  disregard  one  another's 

rights. 

With  a  unanimity  dear  to  patriot  hearts 

All  those  hairy  gentlemen  out  of  foreign  parts 

Said  :  "  The  good  old  days  are  back — let  us 

go  to  war  !  " 
Swaggered  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road,  into 

Bow  Bazar. 

Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat  found  a  hide-bound 

flail, 
Chimbu  Singh   from  Bikaneer  oiled  his  Tonk 

jezail, 


26  Departmental  Ditties 

Yar  Mahommed   Yusufzai  spat  and  grinned 

with  glee 
As  he  ground  the  butcher-knife  of  the  Khy- 

beree. 


Jowar  Singh  the  Sikh  procured  saber,  quoit, 

and  mace, 
Abdul  Huq,  W.ahabi,  took  the  dagger  from  its 

place, 

While    amid    the    jungle-grass     danced    and 

grinned  and  jabbered 
Little  Boh  Hla-oo  and  cleared  the  dah-blade 

from  the  scabbard. 


What  became  of  Mookerjee  ?     Soothly,  who 

can  say  ? 
Yar  Mahommed  only  grins  in  a  nasty  way, 
Jowar   Singh    is    reticent,    Chimbu    Singh    is 

mute. 
But  the  belts  of  them  all  simply  bulge  with 

loot. 

What  became   of   Ballard's   guns  ?     Afghans 

black  and  grubby 
Sell  them  for  their  silver  weight  to  the  men  of 

Pubbi  ; 
And  the  shiny  bowie-knife  and  the  town-made 

sword  are 
Hanging   in    a   Marri   camp  just  across  the 

Border. 


Pink  Dominoes  27 

What  became  of  Mookerjee  ?     Ash  Mahom- 

med  Yar 
Prodding  Siva's  sacred  bull  down   the  Bow 

Bazar. 
Speak  to  placid  Nubbee  Baksh — question  land 

and  sea — 
Ask  the  Indian  Congressmen — only  don't  ask 

me ! 


PINK  DOMINOES. 

"  They  are  fools  who  kiss  and  tell  " 
Wisely  has  the  poet  sung. 
Man  may  hold  all  sorts  of  posts 
If  he'll  only  hold  his  tongue. 

Jenny  and  Me  were  engaged,  you  see, 

On  the  eve  of  the  Fancy  Ball ; 
So  a  kiss  or  two  was  nothing  to  you 

Or  any  one  else  at  all. 

Jenny  would  go  in  a  domino — 

Pretty  and  pink  but  warm  ; 
While  1  attended,  clad  in  a  splendid 

Austrian  uniform. 

Now  we   had    arranged,    through   notes    ex- 
changed 

Early  that  afternoon. 
At  Number  Four  to  waltz  no  more, 

But  to  sit  in  the  dusk  and  spoon. 


28  Departmental  Ditties  ; 

(I  wish  you  to  see  that  Jenny  and  Me  i 

Had  barely  exchanged  our  troth  ;  i 

So  a  kiss  or  two  was  strictly  due  j 

By,  from,  and  between  us  both.)  ' 

When  Three  was  over,  an  eager  lover,  \ 

I  fled  to  the  gloom  outside ;  ■ 

And  a  Domino  came  out  also  j 

Whom  I  took  for  my  future  bride.  1 

That  is  to  say,  in  a  casual  way,  I 

I  slipped  my  arm  around  her ;  j 

With  a  kiss  or  two  (which  is  nothing"  to  you), 

And  ready  to  kiss  I  found  her.  j 

She  turned  her  head,  and  the  name  she  said  | 

Was  certainly  not  my  own  ;  : 

But  ere  I   could   speak,   with  a  smothered  ■ 

shriek  i 

She  fled  and  left  me  alone.  \ 

Then  Jenny  came,  and  I  saw  with  shame  ] 

She'd  doffed  her  domino  ;  j 

And  I  had  embraced  an  alien  waist-^  ! 

But  I  did  not  tell  her  so.  ; 

Next  morn  I  knew  that  there  were  two  \ 

Dominoes  pink,  and  one  ; 

Had  cloaked  the  spouse  of  Sir  Julian  Vouse,  j 

Our  big  political  gun.  j 

Sir  J.  was  old,  and  her  hair  was  gold,  i 

And  her  eye  was  a  blue  cerulean  ;  j 

And  the  name  she  said  when  she  turned  her  j 

head  i 

Was  not  in  the  least  like  *'  Julian."  .; 


The  Man  Who  Could  Write      29 

Now  wasn't  it  nice,  when  want  oi pice 

Forbade  us  twain  to  marry, 
That  old  Sir  J.,  in  the  kindest  way, 

Made  me  his  Secre/^rrj'  / 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULD  WRITE 

Shun — shun  the  Bowl !     That  fatal,  facile  drink 
Has  ruined  many  geese  who  dipped  their  quills  in't 

Bribe,  murder,  marry,  but  steer  clear  of  ink 

Save  when  you  write  receipts  for  paid-up  bills  in't. 

There  may  be  silver  in  the  "  blue-black  " — all 

I  know  of  is  the  iron  and  the  gall. 

Boanerges  Blitzen,    servant  of  the  Queen, 
Is  a  dismal  failure — is  a  Might-have-been. 
In  a  luckless  moment  he  discovered  men 
Rise  to  high  position  through  a  ready  pen. 

Boanerges  Blitzen  argued,  therefore  :  "  I 
With  the  selfsame  weapon  can  attain  as  high." 
Only  he  did  not  possess,  when  he  made  the 

trial, 
Wicked  wit  of  C-lv-n,  irony  of  L 1. 

(Men  who  spar   with    Government   need,    to 

back  their  blows, 
Something    more    than    ordinary   journalistic 
prose.) 

Never   young    Civilian's    prospects    w^ere    so 

bright. 
Till  an   Indian    paper  found    that  he  could 

write  : 


30  Departmental  Ditties 

Never    young    Civilian's    prospects    were    so 

dark, 
When  the  wretched  Blitzen  wrote  to  make  his 

mark. 

Certainly  he   scored  it,  bold  and  black  and 

firm, 
In    that    Indian    paper — made    his    seniors 

squirm, 
Quoted    office    scandals,    wrote    the    tactless 

truth — 
Was    there    ever    known  a    more  misguided 

youth  ? 

When  the  Rag  he  wrote  for  praised  his  plucky 

game, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  felt  that  this  was  Fame  : 
When  the  men  he  wrote  of  shook  their  heads 

and  swore, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  only  wrote  the  more. 

Posed  as  young  Ithuriel,  resolute  and  grim, 
Till  he  found  promotion  didn't  come  to  him ; 
Till  he  found  that  reprimands  weekly  were 

his  lot, 
And  his  many  Districts  curiously  hot. 

Till  he  found  his  furlough  strangely  hard  to 

win, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  didn't  care  a  pin  : 
Then  it  seemed   to   dawn   on   him  something 

wasn't  right — 
Boanerges  Blitzen  put  it  down  to  "  spite." 


Municipal  31 

Languished  in  a  District  desolate  and  dry  ; 
VVatclied  the  Local  Government  yearly  pass 

him  by  ; 
Wondered    where   the    hitch    was  ;    called  it 

most  unfair. 

That  was  seven  years   ago — and  he   still  is 
there. 


MUNICIPAL 

"  Why  is  my  District  death-rate  low  ?  " 

Said  Binks  of  Hezabad. 
"  Wells,  drains,  and  sewage-outfalls  are 

My  own  peculiar  fad. 
I  learned  a  lesson  once.     It  ran 
"  Thus,"  quoth  that  most  veracious  man  : — 

It  was  an  August  evening,  and,  in  snowy 
garments  clad, 

I  paid  a  round  of  visits  in  the  lines  of  Heza- 
bad ; 

When,  presently,  my  Waler  saw,  and  did  not 
like  at  all, 

A  commissariat  elephant  careering  down  the 
Mall. 

I  couldn^t  see  the  driver,  and  across  my  mind 
it  rushed 

That  that  Commissariat  elephant  had  sud- 
denly gone  musth. 


32  Departmental  Ditties 

I  didn't  care  to  meet  him,  and  I  couldn't  well 
get  down, 

So  I  let  the  Waler  have  it,  and  we  headed  for 
the  town. 

The  buggy  was  a  new  one,  and,  praise  Dykes, 
it  stood  the  strain, 

Till  the  Waler  jumped  a  bullock  just  above 
the  City  Drain ; 

And  the  next  that  I  remember  was  a  hur- 
ricane of  squeals. 

And  the  creature  making  toothpicks  of  my 
five-foot  patent  wheels. 

He  seemed  to  want  the  owner,  so  I  fled,  dis- 
traught with  fear. 

To  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  while  he 
snorted  in  my  ear — 

Reached  the  four-foot  drain-head  safely,  and, 
in  darkness  and  despair. 

Felt  the  brute's  proboscis  fingering  my  terror- 
stiffened  hair. 

Heard  it  trumpet  on  my  shoulder — tried  to 
crawl  a  little  higher — 

Found  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  blocked, 
some  eight  feet  up,  with  mire  ; 

And,  for  twenty  reeking  minutes.  Sir,  my  very 
marrow  froze. 

While  the  trunk  was  feeling  blindly  for  a  pur- 
chase on  my  toes! 

It  missed  me  by  a  fraction,  but  my  hair  was 
turning  gray 

Before  they  called  the  drivers  up  and  dragged 
the  brute  away. 


I 

I 


A  Code  of  Morals  33 

Then  I  sought  the  City  Elders,  and  my  words 

were  very  plain. 
They   flushed   that  four-foot  drain-head,  and 

— it  never  choked  again. 

You  may  hold  with  surface-drainage,  and  the 

sun-for-garbage  cure, 
Till  you've  been  a  periwinkle  shrinking  coyly 

up  a  sewer, 
/believe  in  well-flushed  culverts  .... 
This  is  why  the  death-rate's  small ; 
And,  if  you   don't  believe  me,  get  shikarred 

yourself.     That's  all. 


A  CODE  OF  MORALS 

Lest  you  should  think  this  story  true, 
I  merely  mention  I 
Evolved  it  lately.     'Tis  a  most 
Unmitigated  misstatement. 

Now  Jones  had  left  his  new-wed  bride  to  keep 

his  house  in  order, 
And  hied  away  to  the  Hurrum  Hills  above  the 

Afghan  border, 
To  sit  on  a  rock  with  a  heliograph  ;  but  ere  he 

left  he  taught 
His  wife  the  working  of  the  Code  that  sets  the 

miles  at  naught. 

And  Love  had  made  him  very  sage,  as  Nature 

made  her  fair  ; 
So  Cupid  and  Apollo  linked,  per  heliograph, 

the  pair. 

3 


34  Departmental  Ditties 

At  dawn,  across  the  Hurrum  Hills,  he  flashed 

her  counsel  wise — 
At  e'en,  the  dying  sunset  bore  her  husband's 

homilies. 


He  warned  her  'gainst  seductive  youths  in 

scarlet  clad  and  gold, 
As  much  as  'gainst  the  blandishments  paternal 

of  the  old ; 
But  kept  his  gravest  warnings  for  (hereby  the 

ditty  nangs) 
That     snowy-haired     Lothario,     Lieutenant- 

General  Bangs. 

*Twas  General  Bangs,   with  Aide  and   Staff, 

that  tittupped  on  the  way. 
When  they  beheld  a  heliograph  tempestuously 

at  play  ; 
They  thought  of  Border  risings,  and  of  stations 

sacked  and  burnt — 
So  stopped  to  take  the  message  down — and 

this  is  what  they  learnt : — 

"  Dash  dot  dot,  dot,  dot  dash,  dot  dash  dot  " 

twice.     The  General  swore. 
"  Was  ever  General  Officer  addressed  as  '  dear ' 

before  ? 
*  My  Love,'  i'  faith  !    '  My  Duck,'  Gadzooks  ! 

'  My  darling  popsy-wop  ! ' 
Spirit  of  great  Lord  Wolseley,  who  is  on  that 

mountain  top  .'" 


A  Code  of  Morals  35 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute ;  the 
gilded  Staff  were  still, 

As,  dumb  with  pent-up  mirth,  they  booked 
that  message  from  the  hill ; 

For,  clear  as  summer's  lightning  flare,  the  hus- 
band's warning  ran  : — 

"  Don't  dance  or  ride  with  General  Bangs — a 
most  immoral  man." 

(At  dawn,  across  the  Hurrum  Hills,  he  flashed 

her  counsel  wise — 
But,  howsoever  Love  be  blind,  the  world  at 

large  hath  eyes.) 
With  damnatory  dot  and  dash  he  heliographed 

his  wife 
Some    interesting    details   of    the    General's 

private  life. 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute  ;  the  shin- 
ing Staff  were  still. 

And  red  and  ever  redder  grew  the  General's 
shaven  gill. 

And  this  is  what  he  said  at  last  (his  feelings 
matter  not)  : — 

"  I  think  we've  tapped  a  private  line.  Hi  ! 
Threes  about  there  !     Trot !  " 

All  honor  unto  Bangs,   for    ne'er  did    Jones 

thereafter  know, 
By  word  or  act  official  who  read  off  that  helio. ; 
But  the   tale   is   on    the    Frontier,  and    from 

Michni  to  M.oo\tan 
They  know  the  worthy  General  as  "that  most 

immoral  man." 


36  Departmental  Ditties 


THE  LAST  DEPARTMENT 

Twelve  hundred  million  men  are  spread 
About  this  Earth,  and  I  and  You 

Wonder,  when  You  and  I  are  dead, 
What  will  those  luckless  millions  do  ? 

*'  None  whole   or  clean,"  we   cry,   "  or   free 

from  stain 
Of  favor."     Wait  awhile,  till  we  attain 

The  Last  Department,  where  nor  fraud  nor 
fools, 
Nor  grade  nor  greed,  shall  trouble  us  again. 

Fear,  Favor,  or  Affection — what  are  these 
To  the  grim  Head  who  claims  our  services  ? 

I  never  knew  a  wife  or  interest  yet 
Delay  \h2X pukka  step,  miscalled  "decease;" 

When  leave,  long  over-due,  none  can  deny ; 
When  idleness  of  all  Eternity 

Becomes  our  furlough,  and  the  marigold 
Our  thriftless,  bullion-minting  Treasury. 

Transferred  to  the  Eternal  Settlement, 
Each  in  his  strait,  wood-scantled  office  pent, 

No  longer  Brown  reverses  Smith's  appeals, 
Or  Jones  records  his  Minute  of  Dissent. 

And  One,  long  since  a  pillar  of  the  Court, 
As  mud  between  the  beams  thereof  is  wrought ; 
And  One  who  wrote  on  phosphates  for  the 
crops 
Is  subject-matter  of  his  own  Report. 


The  Last  Department         37 

(These  be  the  glorious  ends  whereto  we  pass — 
Let  Him  who  Is,  go  call  on  Him  who  Was; 

And  He  shall  see  the  77iallie  steals  the  slab 
For  currie-grinder,  and  for  goats  the  grass.) 

A  breath  of  wind,  a  Border  bullet's  flight, 
A  draught  of  water,  or  a  horse's  fright — 

The  droning  of  the  fat  Sheristadar 
Ceases,  the  punkah  stops,  and  falls  the  night 

For  you  or  Me.     Do  those  who  live  decline 
The  step  that  offers,  or  their  work  resign  ? 

Trust  me,  To-day's  Most  Indispensables, 
Five  hundred  men  can  take  your  place  or 
mine. 


BALLADS 


THE  BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST 

Oh,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the 

twain  shall  meet. 
Till    Earth  and    Sky  stand  presently  at  God's  great 

Judgment  Seat ; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed, 

nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they 

come  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  ! 

Kamal  is   out  with  twenty  men  to  raise  the 

Border  side, 
And  he  has  lifted  the  Colonel's  mare  that  is 

the  Colonel's  pride : 
He  has  lifted  her   out  of  the   stable-door  be- 
tween the  dawn  and  the  day, 
And  turned   the   calkins  upon  her  feet,  and 

ridden  her  far  away. 
Then  up  and  spoke  the  Colonel's  son  that  led 

a  troop  of  the  Guides  : 
*'  Is  there  never  a  man  of  all  my  men  can  say 

where  Kamal  hides  ?  " 
Then   up  and   spoke   Mahommed  Khan,  the 

son  of  the  Ressaldar, 
"  If  ye  know  the  track  of  the  morning-mist,  ye 

know  where  his  pickets  are. 
41 


42  Ballads 

At  dusk  he  harries  the   Abazai — at  dawn  he 

is  into  Bonair, 
But  he  must  go  by  Fort   Bukloh   to  his  own 

place  to  fare, 
So  if  ye   gallop  to  Fort   Bukloh   as   fast  as  a 

bird  can  fly, 
By  the  favor  of   God  ye  may  cut  him  off  ere 

he  win  to  the  Tongue  of  Jagai, 
But  if   he  be   passed   the  Tongue   of  Jagai, 

right  swiftly  turn  ye  then, 
For  the  length  and  the  breadth  of   that  grisly 

plain  is  sown  with  Kamal's  men. 
There  is  rock  to   the   left,    and  rock  to  the 

right,  and  low  lean  thorn  between, 
And  ye  may  hear  a  breech-bolt  snick  where 

never  a  man  is  seen." 
The  Colonel's  son  has  taken  a  horse,  and  a 

raw  rough  dun  was  he, 
With   the  mouth   of  a  bell  and  the  heart  of 

Hell,  and  the  head  of  the  gallows-tree. 
The  Colonel's  son  to  the  Fort  has  won,  they 

bid  him  stay  to  eat — 
Who  rides  at  the  tail  of  a  Border  thief,  he  sits 

not  long  at  his  meat. 
He's  up  and  away  from  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast 

as  he  can  fly, 
Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  in  the 

gut  of  the  Tongue  of  Jagai, 
Till  he  was   aware  of  his  father's  mare  with 

Kamal  upon  her  back. 
And  when  he  could  spy  the  white  of  her  eye, 

he  made  the  pistol  crack. 
He  has  fired  once,  he  has  fired  twice,  but  the 

whistling  ball  went  wide. 


The  Ballad  of  East  and  West     43 

*'  Ye    shoot    like    a    soldier,"    Kamal    said. 

"  Show  now  if  ye  can  ride." 
It's  up  and  over  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  as  blown 

dust-devils  go, 
The  dun  he  fled  like   a   stag  of  ten,  but   the 

mare  like  a  barren  doe. 
The  dun  he  leaned  against  the  bit  and  slugged 

his  head  above, 
But  the  red  mare  played  with  the  snaffle-bars, 

as  a  maiden  plays  with  a  glove. 
There  was  rock  to  the   left  and  rock  to  the 

right,  and  low  lean  thorn  between, 
And  thrice  he  heard  a  breech-bolt  snick  tho' 

never  a  man  was  seen. 
They  have  ridden   the   low  moon    out  of  the 

sky,  their  hoofs  drum  up  the  dawn, 
The  dun  he  went  like  a  wounded  bull,  but  the 

mare  like  a  new- roused  fawn. 
The  dun  he  fell  at  a  water-course — in  a  woful 

heap  fell  he. 
And  Kamal  has  turned  the   red   mare  back, 

and  pulled  the  rider  free. 
He  has  knocked  the  pistol  out  of  his  hand — 

small  room  was  there  to  strive, 
"  'Twas  only  by  favor  of  mine,"  quoth  he,  "ye 

rode  so  long  alive  : 
There  was  not   a  rock  of  twenty  mile,  there 

was  not  a  clump  of  tree. 
But  covered  a  man  of  my  own   men  with   his 

rifle  cocked  on  his  knee. 
If  I  had  raised   my   bridle-hand,   as   I   have 

held  it  low. 
The  little  jackals  that  flee  so  fast,  were  feast- 
ing all  in  a  row  : 


44  Ballads 

If  I  had  bowed   my  head  on  my  breast,  as  I 

have  held  it  high, 
The  kite   that    whistles    above  us  now  were 

gorged  till  she  could  not  fly." 
Lightly    answered    the    Colonel's    son  :  "  Do 

good  to  bird  and  beast, 
But  count  who   come  for  the  broken  meats 

before  thou  makest  a  feast. 
If  there  should  follow  a  thousand  swords  to 

carry  my  bones  away, 
Belike  the  price  of  a  jackal's  meal  were  more 

than  a  thief  could  pay. 
They  will    feed  their  horse  on  the  standing 

crop,  their  men  on  the  garnered  grain, 
The    thatch    of   the    byres   will     serve    their 

fires  when  all  the  cattle  are  slain. 
But  if  thou  thinkest  the   price  be   fair, — thy 

brethren  wait  to  sup, 
The  hound  is  kin  to  the  jackal-spawn, — howl, 

dog,  and  call  them  up  ! 
And   if  thou  thinkest   the  price  be  high,  in 

steer  and  gear  and  stack, 
Give  me  my  father's  mare  again,  and  I'll  fight 

my  own  way  back  !  " 
Kamal  has  gripped  him   by  the  hand  and  set 

him  upon  his  feet. 
No  talk  shall  be  of  dogs,"   said  he,   "when 

wolf  and  gray  wolf  meet. 
May  I  eat  dirt  if  thou  hast  hurt  of  me  in  deed 

or  breath  ; 
What  dam  of  lances  brought  thee  forth  to  jest 

at  the  dawn  with  Death  ?  " 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son  :  "  I  hold 

by  the  blood  of  my  clan : 


The  Ballad  of  East  and  West     45 

Take  up  the  mare  of  my  father's  gift — by  God, 

she  has  carried  a  man  !  " 
The  red  mare  ran  to   the   Colonel's  son,  and 

nuzzled  against  his  breast, 
"We  be  two  strong  men,"  said  Kamal  then, 

"  but  she  loveth  the  younger  best. 
So  she  shall  go  with  a  lifter's  dower,  my  tur- 
quoise-studded rein. 
My  broidered  saddle  and   saddle-cloth,  and 

silver  stirrups  twain." 
The  Colonel's  son   a  pistol  drew  and   held  it 

muzzle-end, 
**  Ye  have  taken  the  one  from  a  foe,"  said  he  ; 

"  will  ye  take  the  mate  from  a  friend .''  " 
*'  A  gift  for  a  gift,"   said   Kamal  straight ;   "  a 

limb  for  the  risk  of  a  limb. 
Thy  father  has  sent  his   son  to  me,  I'll  send 

my  son  to  him  !  " 
With   that   he    whistled    his    only    son,    that 

dropped  from  a  mountain-crest — 
He  trod  the  ling  like  a  buck  in  spring,  and  he 

looked  like  a  lance  in  rest. 
*'  Now  here  is  thy  master,"  Kamal  said,  "  who 

leads  a  troop  of  the  Guides, 
And  thou  must  ride  at  his  left   side   as  shield 

on  shoulder  rides. 
Till  Death  or  I  cut  loose  the  tie,  at  camp  and 

board  and  bed, 
Thy  life  is  his — thy  fate  is  to  guard  him  with 

thy  head. 
So  thou  must   eat  the  White   Queen's   meat, 

and  all  her  foes  are  thine, 
And  thou   must  harry   thy   father's    hold   for 

the  peace  of  the  Border-line, 


46  Ballads 

And  thou  must  make  a  trooper  tough  and  hack 

thy  way  to  power — 
Belike  they  will  raise  thee  to  Ressaldar  when 

I  am  hanged  in  Peshawur." 
They  have  looked  each  other  between  the  eyes, 

and  there  they  found  no  fault, 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of   the  Brother-in- 

Blood  on  leavened  bread  and  salt : 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in- 

Blood  on  fire  and  fresh-cut  sod, 
On  the  hilt  and  the  haft  of  the  Khyber  knife, 

and  the  wondrous  Names  of  God. 
The  Colonel's  son  he  rides  the  mare  and  Ka- 

mal's  boy  the  dun, 
And  two  have  come  back  to  Fort  Bukloh  where 

there  went  forth  but  one. 
And  when  they   drew   to   the   Quarter-Guard, 

full  twenty  swords  flew  clear — 
There  was  not  a  man  but  carried  his  feud  with 

the  blood  of  the  mountaineer. 
*^  Ha'  done  !   ha'   done  ! "  said  the  Colonel's 

son.     "  Put  up  the  steel  at  your  sides  ! 
Last  night  ye  had  struck  at  a  Border  thief — 

to-night  'tis  a  man  of  the  Guides !  " 

Oh,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  two 

shall  meet, 
Till  Earth   and  Sky   stand   presently   at  God's   great 

Judgment  Seat ; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed, 

nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they  come 

from  the  ends  of  the  earth. 


The  Last  Suttee  47 


THE  LAST  SUTTEE 

Not  many  years  ago  a  King  died  in  one  of  the  Rajpoot 
States.  His  wives,  disregarding  the  orders  of  the 
English  against  suttee,  would  have  broken  out  of  the 
palace  had  not  the  gates  been  barred.  But  one  of  them 
disguised  as  the  King's  favorite  dancing-girl,  passed 
through  the  line  of  guards  and  reached  the  pyre.  There, 
her  courage  failing,  she  prayed  her  cousin,  a  baron  of 
the  court,  to  kill  her.  This  he  did,  not  knowing  who 
she  was. 

Udai  Chand  lay  sick  to  death 

In  his  hold  by  Gungra  hill. 
All  night  we  heard  the  death-gongs  ring 
For  the  soul  of  the  dying  Rajpoot  King, 
All  night  beat  up  from  the  women's  wing 

A  cry  that  we  could  not  still. 

All  night  the  barons  came  and  went, 

The  lords  of  the  outer  guard : 
All  night  the  cressets  glimmered  pale 
On  Ulwar  saber  and  Tonk  jezail, 
Mewar  headstall  and  Marwar  mail, 

That  clinked  in  the  palace  yard. 

In  the  Golden  room  on  the  palace  roof 

All  night  he  fought  for  air : 
And  there  was  sobbing  behind  the  screen, 
Rustle  and  whisper  of  women  unseen, 
And  the  hungry  eyes  of  the  Boondi  Queen 

On  the  death  she  might  not  share. 


48  Ballads 

He  passed  at  dawn — the  death-fire  leaped 

From  ridge  to  river-head, 
From  the  Malwa  plains  to  the  Abu  scaurs : 
And  wail  upon  wail  went  up  to  the  stars 
Behind  the  grim  zenana-bars, 

When  they  knew  that  the  King  was  dead 

The  dumb  priest  knelt  to  tie  his  mouth 

And  robe  him  for  the  pyre. 
The  Boondi  Queen  beneath  us  cried : 
**  See,  now,  that  we  die  as  our  mothers  died 
In  the  bridal-bed  by  our  master's  side  I 

Out,  women  ! — to  the  fire  !  " 

We  drove  the  great  gates  home  apace : 

White  hands  were  on  the  sill  : 
But  ere  the  rush  of  the  unseen  feet 
Had  reached  the  turn  to  the  open  street, 
The  bars  shot  down,  the  guard-drum  beat — 
We  held  the  dove-cot  still. 

A  face  looked  down  in  the  gathering  day. 
And  laughing  spoke  from  the  wall: 

Ohe  they  mourn  here  :  let  me  by — 

Azizun,  the  Lucknow  nautch-girl,  I  ? 

When  the  house  is  rotten,  the  rats  must  fly, 
And  I  seek  another  thrall. 

*'  For  I  ruled  the  King  as  ne'er  did  Queen, 

"  To-night  the  Queens  rule  me  1 
Guard  them  safely,  but  let  me  go, 
Or  ever  they  pay  the  debt  they  owe 
In  scourge  and  torture  !  "     She    leaped 
belov/. 
And  the  grim  guard  watched  her  flee. 


\  The  Last  Suttee  49 

They  knew  that  the  King  had  spent  his  soul 
On  a  North-bred  dancing-girl : 

That  he  prayed  to  a  flat-nosed  Lucknow  god, 

And  kissed  the  ground  where  her  feet  had 
trod, 

And  doomed  to   death  at   her  drunken   nod 
And  swore  by  her  lightest  curl. 

We  bore  the  King  to  his  fathers'  place, 

Where  the  tombs  of  the  Sun-born  stand  : 
Where   the   gray  apes    swing,    and  the   pea- 
cocks preen 
On  fretted  pillar  and  jeweled  screen. 
And  the   wild  boar   couch   in   the  house  of 
the  Queen 
On  the  drift  of  the  desert  sand. 


The  herald  read  his  titles  forth, 

We  set  the  logs  aglow : 
"  Friend  of  the  English,  free  from  fear, 
Baron  of  Luni  to  Jeysulmeer, 
Lord  of  the  Desert  of  Bikaneer, 

King  of  the  Jungle, — go  !  '* 

All  night  the  red  flames  stabbed  the  sky 

With  wavering  wind-tossed  spears  : 
And  out  of  a  shattered  temple  crept 
A  woman  who  veiled  her  head  and  wept, 
And  called  on  the  King — but  the  great  King 
slept, 
And  turned  not  for  her  tears. 
4 


50  Ballads 

Small  thought  had  he  to  mark  the  strife — 

Cold  fear  with  hot  desire — 
When  thrice  she  leaped  from  the  leaping  flame, 
And  thrice  she  beat  her  breast  for  shame, 
And  thrice  like  a  wounded  dove  she  came 

And  moaned  about  the  fire. 

One  watched,  a  bow-shot  from  the  blaze, 

The  silent  streets  between, 
Who  had  stood  by  the  King  in  sport  and  fray, 
To  blade  in  ambush  or  boar  at  bay, 
And  he  was  a  baron  old  and  gray, 

And  kin  to  the  Boondi  Queen. 

He  said  :  "  O  shameless,  put  aside 

The  veil  upon  thy  brow  ! 
Who  held  the  King  and  all  his  land 
To  the  wanton  will  of  a  harlot's  hand  ! 
Will  the  white  ash  rise  from  the  blistered 

brand  ? 
Stoop  down,  and  call  him  now  !  " 

Then  she  :  "  By  the  faith  of  my  tarnished  soul, 

All  things  I  did  not  well 
I  had  hoped  to  clear  ere  the  fire  died, 
And  lay  me  down  by  my  master's  side 
To  rule  in  Heaven  his  only  bride. 

While  the  others  howl  in  Hell. 

"  But  I  have  felt  the  fire's  breath, 

And  hard  it  is  to  die ! 
Yet  if  I  may  pray  a  Rajpoot  lord 
To  sully  the  steel  of  a  Thakur's  sword 
With  base-born  blood  of  a  trade  abhorred  " — 

And  the  Thakur  answered,  *'  Aye." 


The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Mercy      51 

He  drew  and  struck  :  the  straight  blade  drank 

The  life  beneath  the  breast. 
*'  I  had  looked  for   the    Queen    to  face   the 

fiame, 
But  the  harlot  dies  for  the  Rajpoot  dame — 
Sister  of  mine,  pass,  free  from  shame. 

Pass  with  thy  King  to  rest !  " 

The  black  log  crashed  above  the  white : 

The  little  flames  and  lean, 
Red  as  slaughter  and  blue  as  steel, 
That  whistled  and  fluttered  from  head  to  heel. 
Leaped  up  anew,  for  they  found  their  meal 

On  the  heart  of — the  Boondi  Queen  I 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  MERCY 

Abdhur  Rahman,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the 

story  told. 
His    mercy  fills    the    Khyber    hills — his  grace  is 

manifold  ; 
He  has  taken  toll  of  the  North  and  the   South 

— his  glory  reacheth  far, 
And  they  tell  the  tale  of  his  charity  from  Balkh 

to  Kandahar. 

Before  the  old  Peshawur  Gate,  where  Kurd 

and  Kaffir  meet, 
The  Governor  of  Kabul  dealt  the  Justice  of 

the  Street, 
And  that  was   strait  as   running   noose    and 

swift  as  plunging  knife, 
Tho'  he  who  held  the  longer  purse  might  hold 

the  longer  life. 


52  Ballads 

There  was  a  hound  of  Hindustan  had  struck 

a  Euzufzai, 
Wherefore  they  spat  upon   his  face   and  led 

him  out  to  die. 
It  chanced  the  King   went   forth    that   hour 

when  throat  was  bared  to  knife ; 
The  Kaffir  groveled  under-hoof  and  clamored 

for  his  life. 

Then  said  the  King  :  "  Have  hope,  O  friend  I 
Yea,  Death  disgraced  is  hard; 

Much  honor  shall  be  thine;"  and  called  the 
Captain  of  the  Guard. 

Yar  Khan,  a  bastard  of  the  Blood,  so  city- 
babble  saith. 

And  he  was  honored  of  the  King — the  which 
is  salt  to  Death  ; 

And  he  was  son  of  Daoud  Shah  the  Reiver  of 
the  Plains, 

And  blood  of  old  Durani  Lords  ran  fire  in  his 
veins ; 

And  'twas  to  tame  an  Afghan  pride  nor  Hell 
nor  Heaven  could  bind, 

The  King  would  make  him  butcher  to  a  yelp- 
ing cur  of  hind. 

"Strike!"  said  the  King.  "King's  blood 
art  thou — his  death  shall  be  his  pride  ! " 

Then  louder,  that  the  crowd  might  catch : 
"  Fear  not — his  arms  are  tied  !  " 

Yar  Khan  drew  clear  the  Khyber  knife,  and 
struck,  and  sheathed  again. 

*'0  man,  thy  will  is  done,"  quoth  he;  "A 
King  this  dog  hath  slain." 


The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Mercy      53 

Abdhur  Rahman,  the  Durani  Chief,  to  the  North 

and  the  South  is  sold. 
The  North  and  the  South  shall  open  their  mouth 

to  a  Ghilzai  flag  unrolled, 
When  the  big  guns  speak  to  the  Khyber  peak,  and 

his  dog-Heratis  fly, 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long  ?     How  long  ? 

Wolves  of  the  Abazai  1 

That  night  before  the  watch  was  set,  when  all 
the  streets  were  clear, 

The  Governor  of  Kabul  spoke :  "  My  King, 
hast  thou  no  fear  ? 

"  Thou  knowest — thou  hast  heard," — his 
speech  died  at  his  master's  face. 

And  grimly  said  the  Afghan  King:  "I  rule 
the  Afghan  race. 

"  My  path  is  mine — see  thou  to  thine — to- 
night upon  thy  bed 

"Think  who  there  be  in  Kabul  now  that 
clamor  for  thy  head." 

That   night  when  all  the  gates  were   shut  to 

City  and  to    Throne, 
Within  a  little  garden-house  the  King  lay  down 

alone. 
Before  the  sinking  of  the    moon,  which  is   the 

Night  of  Night, 
Yar  Khan  came  softly  to  the  King   to   make 

his  honor  white. 
The  children  of  the  town  had  mocked  beneath 

his  horse's  hoofs, 
The    harlots    of   the    town    had    hailed    him 

"butcher!"  from  their  roofs. 


54  Ballads 

But  as  he  groped  against  the  wall,  two  hands 

upon  him  fell, 
The  King  behind  his  shoulder  spoke  :  "  Dead 

man,  thou  dost  not  well  ! 
'Tis  ill  to  jest  with  Kings  by  day  and  seek  a 

boon  by  night ; 
And  that  thou  bearest  in  thy  hand  is  all  too 

sharp  to  write. 
But  three  days  hence,  if  God  be  good,  and  if 

thy  strength  remain. 
Thou  shalt  demand  one  boon  of  me  and  bless 

me  in  thy  pain. 
For  I  am  merciful  to  all,  and  most  of  all  to 

thee. 
My  butcher  of  the  shambles,  rest — no  knife 

hast  thou  for  me  !  " 

Abdhur  Rahman,  the  Durani  Chief,  holds 

hard  by  the  South  and  the  North  ; 
But  the  Ghilzai  knows,  ere  the  melting  snows, 

when  the  swollen  banks  break  forth, 
When  the  red-coats  crawl  to  the  sungar  wall, 

and  his  Usbeg  lances  fail. 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long  ?   How  long  ? 

Wolves  of  the  Zuka  Kheyl ! 

They   stoned  him  in  the  rubbish-field  when 

dawn  was  in  the  sky. 
According  to  the  written  word,  "  See  that  he 

do  not  die." 

They  stoned  him  till  the  stones  were  piled 

above  him  on  the  plain. 
And  those  the  laboring  limbs  displaced  they 

tumbled  back  again. 


The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Mercy     55 

One  watched  beside  the   dreary  mound  that 

veiled  the  battered  thing, 
And  him  the  King  with  laughter   called  the 

Herald  of  the  King. 

It  was  upon    the   second  night,  the  night   of 

Ramazan, 
The    watcher    leaning    earthward    heard    the 

message  of  Yar  Khan. 

From  shattered  breast  through  shriveled  lips 
broke  forth  the  rattling  breath  : 

*'  Creature  of  God,  deliver  me  from  agony  of 
Death." 

They  sought  the   King   among  his  girls,  and 

risked  their  lives  thereby  : 
*'  Protector  of  the  Pitiful,  give  orders  that  he 

die ! " 

"Bid  him  endure  until   the   day,"   a  lagging 

answer  came ; 
*'The  night  is  short,  and  he  can  pray  and  learn 

to  bless  my  name." 

Before  the  dawn  three  times  he  spoke,  and  on 

the  day  once  more : 
"Creature  of  God   deliver  me   and  bless  the 

King  therefore ! " 

They  shot  him  at  the  morning  prayer,  to  ease 

him  of  his  pain. 
And  when  he  heard  the  matchlocks  clink,  he 

blessed  the  King  again. 


56  Ballads 

Which  thing  the  singers  made  a  song  for  all 

the  world  to  sing, 
So  that  the  Outer  Seas  may  know  the  mercy  of 

the  King. 

Abdhur  Rahman,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the 

story  told. 
He  has  opened  his  mouth  to  the  North  and  the 

South,  they  have  stuffed  his  mouth  with  gold. 
Ye  know  the  truth  of  his  tender  ruth — and  sweet 

his  favors  are. 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long  ?     How  long? 

from  Balkh  to  Kandahar. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  JEST 

When  springtime  flushes  the  desert  grass, 
Our  kafilas  wind  through  the  Khyber  Pass. 
Lean  are  the  camels  but  fat  the  frails. 
Light  are  the  purses  but  heavy  the  bales, 
As  the  snowbound  trade  of  the  North  comes 

down 
To  the  market-square  of  Peshawur  town. 

In  a  turquoise  twilight,  crisp  and  chill, 
A  kafila  camped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Then  blue  smoke-haze  of  the  cooking  rose, 
And  tentpeg  answered  to  hammer-nose; 
And  the  picketed  ponies  shag  and  wild, 
Strained  at  their  ropes  as  the  feed  was  piled ; 
And  the  bubbling  camels  beside  the  load 
Sprawled  for  a  furlong  adown  the  road ; 


The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Jest     57 

And  the  Persian  pussy-cats,  brought  for  sale, 

Spat  at  the  dogs  from  the  camel-bale ; 

And   the  tribesmen   bellowed  to  hasten   the 

food ; 
And  the  camp-fires  twinkled  by  Fort  Jumrood  ; 
And  there  fled  on  the  wings  of  the  gathering 

dusk 
A  savor  of  camels  and  carpets  and  musk, 
A  murmur  of  voices,  a  reek  of  smoke, 
To  tell  us  the  trade  of  the  Khyber  woke. 
The  lid  of  the  flesh-pot  chattered  high, 
The  knives  were  whetted  and — then  came  I 
To  Mahbub  Ali,  the  muleteer, 
Patching  his  bridles  and  counting  his  gear, 
Crammed  with  the  gossip  of  half  a  year. 
But  Mahbub  xA.li  the  kindly  said, 
"  Better  is  speech  when  the  belly  is  fed." 
So  we  plunged  the  hand  to  the  mid-wrist  deep 
In  a  cinnamon  stew  of  the  fat-tailed  sheep, 
And  he  who  never  hath  tasted  the  food, 
By  Allah  !  he  knoweth  not  bad  from  good. 


We  cleansed  our  beards  of  the  mutton-grease. 
We  lay  on  the  mats  and  were  filled  with  peace, 
And  the  talk  slid  north,  and  the  talk  slid  south, 
With  the  sliding  puffs  from  the  hookah-mouth. 
Four  things  greater  than  all  things  are, — 
Women  and  Horses  and  Power  and  War. 
We  spake  of  them  all,  but  the  last  the  most, 
For  I  sought  a  word  of  a  Russian  post, 
Of  a  shifty  promise,  an  unsheathed  sword 
And  a  gray-coat  guard  on  the  Helmund  ford. 


58  Ballads 

Then  Mahbub  AH  lowered  his  eyes 

In  the  fashion  of  one  who  is  weaving  lies. 

Quoth  he  :  "  Of  the  Russians  who  can  say  ? 

When  the  night  is  gathering  all  is  gray. 

But  we  look  that  the  gloom  of  the  night  shall 

die 
In  the  morning  flush  of  a  blood-red  sky. 
Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 
To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies  ? 
We  know  what   Heaven   or  Hell  may  bring, 
But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King. 
That  unsought  counsel  is  cursed  of  God 
Attesteth  the  story  of  Wali  Dad. 

"  His  sire  was  leaky  of  tongue  and  pen, 
His  dam  was  a  clucking  Khuttuck  hen  ; 
And  the  colt  bred  close  to  the  vice  of  each. 
For  he  carried  the  curse   of  an  unstaunched 

speech. 
Therewith  madness — so  that  he  sought 
The  favor  of  kings  at  the  Kabul  court ; 
And  traveled,  in  hope  of  honor,  far 
To    the  line  where   the  gray-coat  squadrons 

are. 
There  have  I  journeyed  too — but  I 
Saw   naught,   said  naught,  and — did  not  die ! 
He    hearked  to    rumor,    and    snatched    at  a 

breath 
Of  '  this  one  knoweth  '  and  '  that  one  saith/ — 
Legends  that  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth 
Of  a  gray-coat  coming,  and  sack  of  the  South. 
These  have  I  also  heard — they  pass 
With  each  new  spring  and  the  winter  grass. 


The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Jest     59 

Hot-foot  southward,  forgotten  of  God, 

Back  to  the  city  ran  Wall  Dad, 

Even  to  Kabul — in  full  durbar 

The  King  held  talk  with  his  Chief  in  War. 

Into  the  press  of  the  crowd  he  broke, 

And  what  he  had  heard  of  the  coming  spoke. 


*'  Then  Gholam  Hyder,  the  Red  Chief,  smiled 
As  a  mother  might  on  a  babbling  child  ; 
But   those   who   would  laugh  restrained    their 

breath, 
When  the  face  of  the  King  showed  dark  as 

death. 
Evil  it  is  in  full  durbar 
To  cry  to  a  ruler  of  gathering  War ! 
Slowly  he  led  to  a  peach-tree  small, 
That  grew  by  a  cleft  of  the  city  wall. 
And  he  said  to  the  boy  :  '  They  shall  praise 

thy  zeal 
So  long  as  the  red  spurt  follows  the  steel. 
And  the  Russ  is  upon  us  even  now? 
Great  is  thy  prudence — await  them,  thou. 
Watch  from  the  tree.     Thou   art  young  and 

strong, 
Surely  thy  vigil  is  not  for  long. 
The  Russ  is  upon  us,  thy  clamor  ran  ? 
Surely  an  hour  shall  bring  their  van. 
Wait  and  watch.     When  the  host  is  near, 
Shout  aloud  that  my  men  may  hear.' 

"  Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 
To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies  ? 


6o  Ballads 

A  guard  was  set  that  he  might  not  flee — 
A  score  of  bayonets  ringed  the  tree. 
The  peach-bloom  fell  in  showers  of  snow, 
When   he  shook  at  his   death  as  he   looked 

below. 
By  the  power  of  God,  who  alone  is  great, 
Till  the  seventh  day  he  fought  with  his  fate. 
Then  madness  took  him,  and  men  declare 
He  mowed  in  the  branches  as  ape  and  bear, 
And  last  as  a  sloth,  ere  his  body  failed, 
And   he    hung    as    a   bat  in   the   forks,    and 

wailed, 
And  sleep  the  cord  of  his  hands  untied. 
And  he  fell,  and  was  caught  on  the  points 

and  died. 

"  Heart  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 
To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies  ? 
We  know  what  Heaven  or  Hell  may  bring, 
But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King, 
Of  the  gray-coat  coming  who  can  say  .•* 
When  the  night  is  gathering  all  is  gray. 
Two  things  greater  than  all  things  are, 
The  first  is  Love,  and  the  second  War. 
And  since  we  know  not  how  War  may  prove. 
Heart  of  my  heart,  let  us  talk  of  Love  1 " 


The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone     6i 


THE  BALLAD  OF  BOH  DA  THONE, 

This  is  the  ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone, 
Erst  a  Pretender  to  Theebaw's  throne, 
Who  harried  the  district  of  Alalone  : 
How  he  met  with  his  fate  and  the  V.  P.  P. 
At  the  hand  of  Harendra  a  Mukerji, 
Senior  Gomashta,  G.  B.  T. 

Boh  Da  Thone  was  a  warrior  bold, 
His  sword  and  his   Snider  were  bossed  with 
gold, 

And  the  Peacock  Banner  his  henchmen  bore 
Was  stiff  with  bullion  but  stiller  with  gore. 

He  shot  at  the  strong  and  he   slashed   at  the 

weak 
From  the  Salween  scrub  to  the  Chindwin  teak  : 

He  crucified  noble,  he  sacrificed  mean, 
He  filled  old  women  with  kerosene  : 

While  over  the  water  the  papers  cried, 
"  The  patriot  fights  for  his  countryside  !  " 

But  little  they  cared  for  the  Native  Press, 
The  worn  white  soldiers  in  Khaki  dress, 

Who  tramped  through  the  jungle  and  camped 

in  the  byre. 
Who  died  in  the  swamp  and  were  tombed  in 

the  mire. 


62  Ballads 

Who  gave  up  their  lives,  at  the  Queen's  Com- 
mand. 

For  the  Pride  of  their  Race  and  the  Peace  of 
the  Land. 

Now,  first  of  the  foemen  of  Boh  Da  Thone 
Was  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  "  Black  Tyrone," 

And  his  was  a  Company,  seventy  strong, 
Who  hustled  that  dissolute  Chief  along. 

There  were  lads  from  Galway  and  Louth  and 

Meath 
Who  went  to  their  death  with  a  joke  in   their 

teeth. 

And  worshiped  with  fluency,  fervor,  and  zeal 
The  mud  on  the  boot-heels  of  "  Crook  "  O'Neil. 

But  ever  a  blight  on  their  labors  lay, 
And  ever  their  quarry  would  vanish  away, 

Till  the  sun-dried  boys  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Took  a  brotherly  interest  in  Boh  Da  Thone  : 

And,  sooth,  if  pursuit  in  possession  ends. 
The  Boh  and  his  trackers  were  best  of  friends. 

The  word  of  a  scout — a  march  by  night — 
A  rush  through  the  mist — a  scattering  fight — 

A  volley  from  cover — a  corpse  in  the  clear- 
ing— 

The  glimpse  of  a  lion-cloth  and  heavy  jade 
earring — 


The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone     63 

The  flare  of  a  village — the  tally  of  slain — 
And     .     .     .     the    Boh  was   abroad  "  on  the 
raid  "  again  ! 

They  cursed  their  luck  as  the  Irish  will, 
They  gave  him  credit  for  cunning  and  skill, 

They  buried  their  dead,  they  bolted  their  beef, 
And  started  anew  on  the  track  of  the  thief 

Till,  in  place  of  the  "  Kalends  of  Greece,"  men 

said, 
"  When  Crook   and   his  darlings    come  back 

with  the  head." 

They  had  hunted  the    Boh  from  the  Hills  to 

the  plain — 
He  doubled  and  broke  for  the  hills  again  : 

They  had  crippled  his    power  for    rapine  and 

raid, 
They  had  routed  him  out  of  his  pet  stockade, 

And  at   last,  they  came,  when    the    Day  Star 

tired, 
To  a  camp  deserted — a  village  fired. 

A  black  cross  blistered  the  Morning-gold, 
And  the  body  upon  it  was  stark  and  cold. 

The  wind  of  the  dawn  went  merril}^  past, 
The  high  grass  bowed  her  plumes  to  the  blast. 

And  out  of  the  grass,  on  a  sudden,  broke 
A  spirtle  of  fire,  a  whorl  of  smoke — 


64  Ballads 

And  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Was  blessed  with  a  slug  in  the  ulna-bone — 
The  gift  of  his  enemy  Boh    Da  Thone. 

(Now  a  slug  that  is  hammered  from  telegraph- 
wire 
Is  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  and  a  rankling  fire.) 

The  shot-wound  festered — as  shot-wounds  may 
In  a  steaming  barrack  at  Mandalay. 

The  left  arm  throbbed,  and  the  captain  swore, 
*'  I'd  like  to  be  after  the  Boh  once  more !  " 

The  fever  held  him — the  Captain  said, 
*•  I'd  give  a  hundred  to  look  at  his  head !  " 

The  Hospital  punkahs  creaked  and  whirred, 
But  Babu  Harendra  (Gomashta)  heard. 

He    thought    of    the    cane-brake,  green    and 

dank, 
That  girdled  his  home  by  the  Dacca  tank. 

He  thought  of  his  wife  and  his  High  School 

son, 
He  thought — but  abandoned  the  thought — of 

a  gun. 

His  sleep  was  broken  by  visions  dread 
Of  a  shinins:  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 


The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone     65 

He  kept  his  counsel  and  went  his  way, 
And  swindled  the  cartmen  of  half  their  pay. 

And  the  months  went  on,  as  the  worst  must 

do. 
And  the  Boh  returned  to  the  raid  anew. 

But  the  Captain  had  quitted  the  long-drawn 

strife, 
And  in  far  Simoorie  had  taken  a  wife. 

And  she  was  a  damsel  of  delicate  mold, 
With  hair  like  the  sunshine  and  heart  of  gold, 

And  little  she  knew  the  arms  that  embraced 
Had    cloven    a    man   from  the   brow   to    the 
waist : 

And  little  she  knew  that  the  loving  lips 
Had  ordered  a  quivering  life's  eclipse, 

And  the  eye  that  lit  at  her  lightest  breath 
Had  glared  unawed  in  the  Gates  of  Death. 

(For  these  be  matters  a  man  would  hide, 
As  a  general  rule,  from  an  innocent  Bride.) 

And  little  the  Captain  thought  of  the  past, 
And,  of  all  men,  Babu  Harendra  last. 


But  slow,  in  the  sludge  of  the  Kathun  road. 
The  Government  Bullock  Train  loted  its  load. 
5 


66  Ballads 

Speckless  and  spotless  and  shining  with  ghee^ 
In  the  rearmost  cart  sat  the  Babu-jee. 

And  ever  a  phantom  before  him  fled 
Of  a  scowling  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 

Then  the  lead-cart  stuck,  though  the  coolies 

slaved, 
And    the    cartmen    flogged   and   the    escort 

raved  ; 

And  out  of  the  jungle,  with  yells  and  squeals, 
Pranced  Boh  Da  Thone,  and  his  gang  at  his 
heels ! 

Then  belching  blunderbuss  answered  back 
The  Snider's  snarl  and  the  carbine's  crack, 

And  the  blithe  revolver  began  to  sing 
To  the  blade  that  twanged  on   the   locking- 
ring. 

And  the  brown  flesh  blued  where  the  bay'net 

kissed, 
As  the  steel  shot  back    with  a  wrench  and  a 

twist. 

And  the  great  white  bullocks  with  onyx  eyes 
Watched  the  souls  of  the  dead  arise, 

And  over  the  smoke  of  the  fusillade 

The  Peacock  Banner  staggered  and  swayed. 

Oh,  gayest  of  scrimmages  man  may  see 
Is  a  well-worked  rush  on  the  G.  B.  T.  ! 

The  Babu  shook  at  the  horrible  sight. 
And  girded  his  ponderous  loins  for  flight, 


The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone     67 

But  Fate  had  ordained  that  the  Boh  should 

start 
On  a  lone-hand  raid  of  the  rearmost  cart, 

And  out  of  that  cart,  with  a  bellow  of  wo  , 
That  Babu  fell— flat  on  the  top  of  the  Boh ! 

For  years  had  Harendra  served  the  Stale, 
To  the  growth  of  his  purse  and  the  girth  of 
his  pet — 

There   were  twenty  stone,  as    the  tally-man 

knows, 
On  the    broad  of   the    chest  of  this   best   of 

Bohs. 

And  twenty  stone  from  a  height  discharged 
Are  bad  for  a  Boh  with  a  spleen  enlarged. 

Oh,  short   was  the  struggle — severe    was  the 

shock — 
He   dropped  like    a   bullock — he    lay  like   a 

block  ; 

And  the  Babu  above  him,  convulsed  with  fear, 
Heard  the  laboring  life-breath  hissed  out  in 
his  ear. 

And  thus  in  a  fashion  undignified 

The  princely  pest  of  the  Chindwin  died. 

Turn  now  to  Simoorie  where,  lapped   in  his 

ease. 
The  Captain  is  petting  the  Bride  on  his  knees. 


68  Ballads 

Where  the  whit  of  the  bullet,  the  wounded 

man's  scream 
Are    mixed   as    the   mist    of   some    devilish 

dream — 
Forgotten,  forgotten  the  sweat  of  the  shambles 
Where  the  hill  daisy  blooms   and  the  gray 

monkey  gambols, 

From   the  sword-belt  set   free  and   released 

from  the  steel, 
The  Peace  of  the  Lord  is  with  Captain  O'Neil. 

Up   the   hill   to    Simoorie — most   patient   of 

drudges — 
The   bags  on  his   shoulder,  the  mail-runner 

trudges. 
"  For  Captain  O'Neil,  Sahib.     One  hundred 

and  ten 
Rupees  to  collect  on  delivery." 

Then 
(Their  breakfast  was  stopped  while  the  screw- 
jack  and  hammer 
Tore  wax-cloth,  split  teak-wood,  and  chipped 

out  the  dammer ;) 
Open-eyed,  open-mouthed,   on   the   napery's 

snow, 
With  a  crash  and  a  thud,  rolled — the  Head 

of  the  Boh  ! 

And  gummed  to  the  scalp  was  a  letter  which 
ran  : 

"  In  Fielding  Force  Service. 
"  Encampment^ 

"  loth  Jan. 


The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone     69 

"  Dear  Sir, — I    have  honor  to  send,   as  you 

said, 
For  final  approval  (see  under)  Boh's  Head  ; 

Was  took  by  myself  in  most  bloody  affair. 
By    High    Education    brought    pressure     ta 
bear. 

*' Now  violate  Liberty,  time  being  bad, 
*'To  mail  V.  P.  P.   (rupees  hundred)  Please 
add 

*'  Whatever  Your  Honor  can  pass.     Price  of 

Blood 
Much  cheap    at    one  hundred,  and  children 

want  food. 

"  So  trusting  Your  Honor  will  somewhat  re- 
tain 

True  love  and  affection  for  Govt.  Bullock 
Train, 

"  And  show  awful  kindness  to  satisfy  me, 
"  I  am, 

*'  Graceful  Master. 
"Your 

'*H.  Mukerji.''^ 


As  the  rabbit  is  drawn  to   the  rattlesnake^s 

power, 
As  the  smoker's  eye  fills  at  the  opium  hour. 


70  Ballads 

As  a  horse  reaches  up  to  the  manger  above, 
As  the  waiting  ear  yearns  for  the  whisper  of 
love, 

From  the  arms  of  the  Bride,  iron-visaged  and 

slow, 
The  Captain  bent  down   to  the   Head  of  the 

Boh. 

And  e'en  as  he  looked  on  the  Thing  where  It 
lay 

'Twixt  the  winking  new  spoons  and  the  nap- 
kins' array, 

The  freed    mind  fled  back  to  the    long-ago 

days — 
The  hand-to-hand  scuffle — the  smoke  and  the 

blaze — 

The  forced  march  at  night  and  the  quick  rush 

at  dawn — 
The  banjo  at  twilight,  the  burial  ere  morn — 

The  stench  of  the  marshes — the  raw,  piercing 

smell 
When  the  overhand  stabbing-cut  silenced  the 

yell— 

The  oaths  of  his  Irish  that  surged  when  they 

stood 
Where  the  black  crosses  hung  o'er  the  Kutta- 

mow  flood. 


The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone     71 

As  a  derelict  ship  drifts  away  with  the  tide 
The  Captain  went  out  on  the  Past  from  his 
Bride, 

Back,  back,  through  the  springs  to  the  chill  of 

the  year, 
When  he  hunted  the  Boh    from    Maloon    to 

Tsaleer. 

As  the   shape  of  a  corpse  dimmers  up  through 

deep  water. 
In    his    eye    lit    the    passionless   passion     of 

slaughter, 

And  men  who  had  fought  with  O'Neil  for  the 

life 
Had  gazed  on  his  face  with  less  dread  than 

his  wife. 

For  she    who  had  held  him  so  long  could  not 

hold  him — 
Though    a  four-month  Eternity  should  have 

controlled  him — 

But  watched  the  twin  Terror — the  head  turned 

to  head — 
The  scowling,  scarred  Black,  and  the  flushed 

savage  Red — 

The  spirit  that  changed  from  her  knowing  and 

flew  to 
Some  grim  hidden  Past  she  had  never  a   clue 

to 


72  Ballads 

But  It  knew  as  It  grinned,  for  he  touched  it 

unfearing, 
And  muttered  aloud,  "  So  you  kept  that  jade 

earring !  '* 

Then   nodded,  and  kindly,   as  friend  nods  to 

friend, 
*'  Old  man,  you  fought  well,  but   you  lost   in 

the  end." 


The  visions  departed,  and  Shame  followed 
Passion, 

*'  He  took  what  I  said  in  this  horrible  fash- 
ion, 

"/'//  write  to  Harendra  !  "     With  language  un- 

sainted 
The  Captain  came  back   to  the    Bride  .  .  , 

who  had  fainted. 


And  this  is  a  fiction  ?     No.     Go  to  Simoorie 
And  look  at  their  baby,  a  twelve-month  old 
Houri, 

A  pert  litttle,Irish-eyed  Kathleen  Mavournin — 
She's  always  about  on  the  Mall  of  a  mornin' — 

And  you'll  see,  if  her  right  shoulder-strap  is 

displaced, 
This  :  Gules  upon  argent,  a  Boh's  Head,  erased! 


The  Lament  of  the  Cattle  Thief      73 


THE  LAMENT  OF  THE  BORDER 
CATTLE  THIEF 

O  wo  is  me  for  the  merry  life 

I  led  beyond  the  Bar, 
And  a  treble  wo  for  my  winsome  wife 

That  weeps  at  Shalimar. 

They  have  taken  away  my  long  jezail, 

My  shield  and  saber  fine, 
And  heaved  me  into  the  Central  jail 

For  lifting  of  the  kine. 

The  steer  may  low  within  the  byre, 
The  Jut  may  tend  his  grain, 

But  there'll  be  neither  loot  nor  fire 
Till  I  come  back  again. 

And  God  have  mercy  on  the  Jut 
When  once  my  fetters  fall, 

And  Heaven  defend  the  farmer's  hut 
When  I  am  loosed  from  thrall. 

It's  wo  to  bend  the  stubborn  back 
Above  the  grinching  quern, 

It's  wo  to  hear  the  leg-bar  clack 
And  jingle  when  I  turn  ! 

But  for  the  sorrow  and  the  shame, 
The  brand  on  me  and  mine, 

I'll  pay  you  back  in  leaping  flame 
And  loss  of  the  butchered  kine. 


74  Ballads 

For  every  cow  I  spared  before 

In  charity  set  free, 
If  I  may  reach  my  hold  once  more 

I'll  reive  an  honest  three ! 


For  every  time  I  raised  the  low 

That  scared  the  dusty  plain, 
By  sword  and  cord,  by  torch  and  tow 

I'll  light  the  land  with  twain  ! 

Ride  hard,  ride  hard  to  Abazai, 

Young  Sahib  with  the  yellow  hair — 

Lie  close,  lie  close  as  khuttucks  lie, 
Fat  herds  below  Bonair ! 

The  one  I'll  shoot  at  twilight  tide, 

At  dawn  I'll  drive  the  other  ; 
The  black  shall  mourn  for  hoof  and  hide, 

The  white  man  for  his  brother ! 

'Tis  war,  red  war,  I'll  give  you  then, 

War  till  my  sinews  fail, 
For  the   wrong  you  have  done  to  a  chief  of 

men 
And  a  thief  of  the  Zukka  Kheyl. 

And  if  I  fall  to  your  hand  afresh 

I  give  you  leave  for  the  sin, 
That  you  cram  my  throat  with  the  foul  ^pig's 

flesh 
And  swing  me  in  the  skin  ! 


Rhyme  of  the  Three  Captains     75 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  THREE 
CAPTAINS 


This  ballad  appears  to  refer  to  one  of  the  exploits  of 
the  notorious  Paul  Jones,  the  American  Pirate.  It  is 
founded  on  fact. 


.     .     .     At  the  close  of  a  winter  day, 
Their   anchors  down,   by  London  town,    the 

Three  Great  Captains  lay. 
And  one  was  Admiral  of  the  North  from  Sol» 

way  Firth  to  Skye, 
And  one  was  Lord  of  the  Wessex  coast  and  all 

the  lands  thereby, 
And  one  was  Master  of  the  Thames  from  Lime- 
house  to  Blackwall, 
And  he  was  Captain  of  the  Fleet — the  bravest 

of  them  all. 
Their  good  guns   guarded    their   great   gray 

sides  that  were  thirty  foot  in  the  sheer, 
When  there  came  a  certain  trading-brig  with 

news  of  a  privateer. 
Her  rigging  was  rough  with  the  clotted  drift 

that  drives  in  a  Northern  breeze. 
Her  sides  were  clogged  with  the  lazy  weed 

that  spawns  in  the  Eastern  seas. 
Light  she  rode  in  the  rude  tide-rip,  to  left  and 

right  she  rolled, 
And  the  skipper  sat  on  the   scuttle-butt   and 

stared  at  an  empty  hold. 


76  Ballads 

"  I  ha'  paid  Port  dues  for  your  Law/*  quoth 

he,  "  and  where  is  the  Law  ye  boast 
If  I  sail  unscathed  from   a  heathen  port  to 

be  robbed  on  a  Christian  coast  ? 
Ye  have  smoked  the  hives  of  the  Laccadives 

as  we  burn  the  lice  in  a  bunk; 
We  tack  not    now    to  a  Gallang  prow   or  a 

plunging  Pei-ho  junk ; 
I  had  no  fear  but  the  seas  were  clear  as  far 

as  a  sail  might  fare. 
Till  I  met  with   a  lime-washed  Yankee  brig 

that  rode  off  Finisterre. 
There  were    canvas    blinds   to  his    bow-gun 

ports  to  screen  the  weight  he  bore 
And  the  signals  ran  for  a  merchantman  from 

Sandy  Hook  to  the  Nore. 
He    would    not    fly   the    Rovers'    flag — the 

bloody  or  the  black, 
But  now. he  floated  the  Gridiron  and  now  he 

flaunted  the  Jack. 
He    spoke  of   the   Law    as  he    crimped    my 

crew — he  swore  it  was  only  a  loan  ; 
But  when  I  would  ask  for  my  own  again,  he 

swore  it  was  none  of  my  own. 
He  has  taken  my  little  parrakeets  that  nest 

beneath  the  Line, 
He  has  stripped  my  rails  of   the  shaddock- 
frails  and  the  green  unripened  pine  ; 
He  has  taken  my  bale  of  dammer  and  spice 

I  won  beyond  the  seas, 
He   has  taken  my   grinning  heathen  gods — 

and  what  should  he  want  o'  these  ? 


Rhyme  of  the  Three  Captains     "]^ 

My  foremast  would  not  mend  his  boom,  my 

deck-house  patch  his  boats  ;    . 
He  has  whittled   the  two  this  Yank  Yahoo, 

to  peddle  for  shoepeg-oats. 
I  could  not  fight  for  the  failing  light  and  a 

rough  beam-sea  beside, 
But  I   hulled  him   once    for  a  clumsy  crimp 

and  twice  because  he  lied. 
Had  I  had  guns    (as  I  had  goods)   to  work 

my  Christian  harm, 
I  had  run  him    up   from  his   quarter-deck  to 

trade  with  his  own  yard-arm  ; 
I  had    nailed    his    ears  to  my  capstan-head, 

and  ripped  them  off  with  a  saw, 
And    soused    them    in    the    bilgewater,    and 

served  them  to  him  raw ; 
I  had  flung  him   blind  in  a  rudderless  boat 

to  rot  in  the  rocking  dark ; 
I  had  towed  him  aft  of  his  own  craft,  a  bait 

for  his  brother  shark  ; 
I  had   lapped    him  round   with    cocoa   husk, 

and  drenched  him  with  the  oil, 
And  lashed  him  fast  to  his  own  mast  to  blaze 

above  my  spoil ; 
I  had  stripped  his    hide   for   my   hammock- 
side,  and  tasseled  his  beard  i'  the  mesh, 
And  spitted    his    crew   on    the    live   bamboo 

that  grows  through  the  gangrened  flesh  ; 
I    had    hove    him    down    by    the    mangroves 

brown,    where    the    mud-reef    sucks    and 

draws. 
Moored  by  the  heel  to  his  own  keel  to   wait 

for  the  land-crab's  claws  ! 


y^  Ballads 

He  is  lazar  within  and  lime  without,  ye  can 

nose  him  far  enow, 
For  he  carries  the  taint  of  a  musky  ship — 

the  reek  of  the  slaver's  dhow  !  " 
The  skipper  looked  at   the   tiering  guns   and 

the  bulwarks  tall  and  cold, 
And    the    Captains     Three    full    courteously 

peered  down  at  the  gutted  hole, 
And  the   Captains   Three   called  courteously 

from  deck  to  scuttle-butt : 
"Good  Sir,  we  ha'  dealt  with  that  merchant- 
man or  ever  your  teeth  were  cut. 
Your  words  be  words  of  a  lawless  race,  and 

the  Law  it  standeth  thus  : 
He  comes   of  a  race  that   have  never  a  Law, 

and  he  never  has  boarded  us. 
We  ha'  sold  him  canvas  and  rope  and  spar — 

we  know  that  his  price  is  fair. 
And  we  know  that  he  weeps  for  the   lack  of 

a  Law  as  he  rides  off  Finisterre. 
And  since  he  is   damned  for  a  gallows-thief 

by  you  and  better  than  you. 
We  hold  it  meet  that  the  English  fleet  should 

know  that  we  hold  him  true." 
The  skipper  called  to  the  tall  taffrail :    "  And 

what  is  that  to  me  ? 
Did  ever  you  hear  of  a  privateer  that  rifled 

a  Seventy-three  ? 
Do  I  loom  so  large  from  your  quarter-deck 

that  I  lift  like  a  ship  o'  the  Line? 
He  has  learned  to   run   from  a  shotted  gun 

and  harry  such  craft  as  mine. 


Rhyme  of  the  Three  Captains     79 

There  is  never  a  Law  on  the  Cocos  Keys  to 

hold  a  white  man  in, 
But  we  do  not  steal  the  niggers'  meal,   for 

that  is  a  nigger's  sin. 
Must  he  have  his  Law  as  a  quid  to  chaw,  or 

laid  in  brass  on  his  wheel  ? 
Does  he  steal  with  tears  when  he  buccaneers  ? 

'Fore  Gad,  then,  why  does  he  steal  ?  " 
The  skipper  bit  on  a  deep-sea  word,  and  the 

word  it  was  not  sweet. 
For  he  could  see   the    Captains    Three    had 

signaled  to  the  Fleet. 
But  three  and  two,  in   white   and   blue,  the 

whimpering  flags  began  : 
"  We  have  heard   a  tale  of  a  foreign  sail,  but 

he  is  a  merchantman." 
The    skipper   peered    beneath  his  palm    and 

swore  by  the  Great  Horn  Spoon, 
*'  'Fore  Gad,  the  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet  would 

bless  my  picaroon  !  " 
By  two   and  three  the  flags  blew  free  to  lash 

the  laughing  air, 
"  We  have  sold  our  spars  to  the  merchantman 

— we  know  that  his  price  is  fair." 
The  skipper   winked    his    Western    eye,    and 

swore  by  a  China  storm  : 
*'They  ha'  rigged  him  a  Joseph's  jury-coat  to 

keep  his  honor  warm." 
The  halliards   twanged   against  the   tops,  the 

bunting  bellied  broad. 
The   skipper   spat   in    the   empty   hold   and 

mourned  for  a  wasted  cord. 


So  Ballads 

Masthead — masthead,  the  signal  sped  by  the 

line  o'  the  British  craft; 
The  skipper  called  to   his  Lascar  crew,   and 

put  her  about  and  laughed  : 
It's  mainsail  haul,    my  bully  boys   all — we'll 

out  to  the  seas  again  ; 
Ere  they  set  us  to  paint  their  pirate  saint,  or 

scrub  at  his  grapnel-chain 
It's  fore-sheet  free,  with  her  head  to  the  sea, 

and  the  swing  of  the  unbought  brine — 
We'll  make  no   sport  in  an  English  court  till 

we  come  as  a  ship  o'  the  Line, 
Till  we  come  as  a  ship  o'  the  Line,  my  lads, 

of  thirty  foot  in  the  sheer, 
Lifting  again  from  the  outer  main  with  news 

of  a  privateer ; 
Flying    his    pluck    at  our  mizzen-truck   for 

weft  of  Admiralty, 
Heaving  his  head   for  our  dipsy-lead  in  sign 

that  we  keep  the  sea. 
Then  fore-sheet  home  as  she  lifts  to  the  foam 

— we  stand  on  the  outward  tack 
We  are  paid  in  the  coin  of  the  white  man's 

trade — the  bezant  is  hard,  ay,  and  black. 
The  frigate-bird  shall  carry  my  word  to   the 

Kling  and  the  Orang-Laut 
How  a  man  may  sail  from  a  heathen  coast 

to  be  robbed  in  a  Christian  port ; 
How  a  man  may  be  robbed  in  Christian  port 

while  Three  Great  Captains  there 
Shall  dip  their  flag  to  a  slaver's  rag — to  show 

that  his  trade  is  fair  !  " 


Ballad  of  the  ''  Clampherdown  "     8i 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE   **  CLAMPHER- 
DOWN " 

It  was  our  war-ship  "  Clampherdown  '* 

Would  sweep  the  Channel  clean, 
Wherefore  she  kept  her  hatches  close 
When  the  merry  Channel  chops  arose, 
To  save  the  bleached  marine. 

She  had  one  bow-gun  of  a  hundred  ton, 

And  a  great  stern-gun  beside ; 
They  dipped  their  noses  deep  in  the  sea, 
They  racked  their  stays  and  staunchions  free 

In  the  wash  of  the  wind-whipped  tide. 

It  was  our  war-ship  "  Clampherdown," 

Fell  in  with  a  cruiser  light 
That  carried  the  dainty  Hotchkiss  gun 
And  a  pair  o'  heels  wherewith  to  run, 

From  the  grip  of  a  close-fought  fight. 

She  opened  fire  at  seven  miles — 

As  ye  shoot  at  a  bobbing  cork — 
And  once  she  fired  and  twice  she  fired, 
Till  the  bow-gun  drooped  like  a  lily  tired 
That  lolls  upon  the  stalk. 

"  Captain,  the  bow-gun  melts  apace. 

The  deck-beams  break  below, 
'Twere  well  to  rest  for  an  hour  or  twain, 
And  botch  the  shattered  plates  again." 

And  he  answered,  "  Make  it  so." 
6 


82  Ballads 

She  opened  fire  within  the  mile — 

As  ye  shoot  at  the  flying  duck — 
And  the  great  stern-gun  shot  fair  and  true, 
With  the  heave  of  the  ship,  to   the   stainless 
blue, 
And  the  great  stern-turret  stuck. 

"  Captain,  the  turret  fills  with  steam, 

The  feed-pipes  burst  below — 
You  can  hear  the  hiss  of  helpless  ram, 
You  can  hear  the  twisted  runners  jam." 

And  he  answered,  "  Turn  and  go  !  " 

It  was  our  war-ship  "  Clampherdown," 

And  grimly  did  she  roll ; 
Swung  round  to  take  the  cruiser's  fire 
As  the  White  Whale  faces  the  Thresher's  ire, 

When  they  war  by  the  frozen  Pole. 

**  Captain,  the  shells  are  falling  fast, 

And  faster  still  fall  we ; 
And  it  is  not  meet  for  English  stock. 
To  bide  in  the  heart  of  an  eight-day  clock, 

The  death  they  cannot  see. " 

"  Lie  down,  lie  down  my  bold  A.B., 

We  drift  upon  her  beam  ; 
We  dare  not  ram  for  she  can  run ; 
And  dare  ye  fire  another  gun. 

And  die  in  the  peeling  steam  ?  " 

It  was  our  war-ship  "  Clampherdown  " 

That  carried  an  armor-belt  ; 
But  fifty  feet  at  stern  and  bow. 
Lay  bare  as  the  paunch  of  the  purser's  sow, 

To  the  hail  of  the  Nordenfeldt. 


Ballad  of  the  ''  Clampherdown  "     83 

"  Captain,  they  lack  us  through  and  through  ; 

The  chilled  steel  bolts  are  swift ! 
We  have  emptied  the  bunkers  in  open  sea, 
Their  shrapnel  bursts  where  our  coal  should 
be." 

And  he  answered,  "  Let  her  drift." 

It  was  our  war-ship  '^  Clampherdown," 

Swung  round  upon  the  tide. 
Her  tvvo  dumb  guns  glared  south  and  north, 
And  the  blood  and  the  bubbling   steam  ran 
forth, 

And  she  ground  the  cruiser's  side. 

''Captain,  they  cry,  the  fight  is  done, 

They  bid  you  send  your  sword." 
And  he  answered,   "  Grapple  her  stern  and 

bow. 
They  have  asked  for  the  steel.     They  shall 
have  it  now  ; 
Out  cutlasses  and  board  !  " 

It  was  our  war-ship  "  Clampherdown," 

Spewed  up  four  hundred  men  ; 
And  the  scalded  stokers  yelped  delight, 
As  they  rolled  in   the  waist   and   heard  the 
fight, 

Stamp  o'er  their  steel-walled  pen. 

They  cleared  the  cruiser  end  to  end. 

From  conning-tower  to  hold. 
They  fought  as  they  fought  in  Nelson's  fleet ; 
They  were  stripped  to  the  waist,  they  were 
bare  to  the  feet, 

As  it  was  in  the  days  of  old. 


84  Ballads 

It  was  the  sinking  "  Clampherdown  '* 

Heaved  up  her  battered  side — 
And  carried  a  million  pounds  in  steel, 
To  the  cod  and  the  corpse-fed  conger-eel, 
And  the  scour  of  the  Channel  tide. 

It  was  the  crew  of  the  "  Clampherdown  " 

Stood  out  to  sweep  the  sea, 
On  a  cruiser  won  from  an  ancient  foe, 
As  it  was  in  the  days  of  long-ago, 

And  as  it  still  shall  be. 


THE  BALLAD  OF   THE  "BOLIVAR" 

Seven  men  from  all  the  world,  back  to  Docks  again, 
Rolling  down  the  Ratcliffe   Road  drunk  and  raising 

Cain  : 
Give  the  girls  another  drink  'fore  we  sign  away— 
We  that  took  the  "  Bolivar  "  out  across  the  Bay  ! 

We  put  out  from   Sunderland   loaded  down 
with  rails  ; 
We  put  back  to  Sunderland  'cause  our  cargo 
shifted  ; 
We  put  out  from  Sunderland — met  the  winter 
gales — 
Seven   days   and  seven  nights  to  the  Start 
we  drifted, 

E-acketing  her  rivets  loose,  smoke-stack 

white  as  snow, 
All  the  coals  adrift  a  deck,  half   the  rails 

below 


The  Ballad  of  the  "  Bolivar  "     85 

Leaking  like  a  lobster-pot,  steering  like  a 

dray — 
Out  we  took  the   "  Bolivar,"  out  across 

the  Bay ! 

One  by  one  the  Lights  came  up,  winked  and 
let  us  by  ; 
Mile   by   mile    we   waddled    on,    coal    and 
fo'c'sle  short; 
Met  a  blow  that  laid  us  down,  heard  a  bulk- 
head fly  ; 
Left  The  Wolf  behind  us  with  a  two  foot- 
list  to  port. 

Trailing  like  a   wounded   duck,  working 

out  her  soul ; 
Clanging  like  a  smithy-shop    after  every 

roll ; 
Just  a  funnel  and  a  mast  lurching  through 

the  spray — 
So  we  threshed  the  "  Bolivar  "  out  across 

the  Bay  ! 

Felt  her  hog  and  felt  her  sag,  betted  when 
she'd  break  ; 
Wondered    every    time   she   raced  if    she'd 
stand  the  shock  ; 
Heard  the  seas  like  drunken  men  pounding  at 
her  strake ; 
Hoped  the  Lord  'ud  keep  his  thumb  on  the 
plummer-block. 

Banged    against   the    iron    decks,  bilges 
choked  with  coal  ; 


86  Ballads 

Flayed  and  frozen  foot  and  hand,  sick  of 

heart  and  soul; 
'Last  we  prayed  she'd  buck  herself  into 

Judgment  Day — 
Hi !  we  cursed  the  "  Bolivar  "  knocking 

round  the  Bay ! 

Oh !  her  nose  flung  up  to  sky,  groaning  to  be 
still- 
Up  and  down  and  back  we  went,  never  time 
for  breath ; 
Then  the  money  paid  at  Lloyd's   caught  her 
by  the  heel, 
And  the  stars  ran  round  and  round  dancin' 
at  our  death. 

Aching  for  an  hour's  sleep,  dozing  off  be- 
tween ; 

Heard  the  rotten  rivets  draw  when  she 
took  it  green ; 

Watched  the  compass  chase  its  tail  like 
a  cat  at  play — 

That  was  on  the  "  Bolivar,"  south  across 
the  Bay. 

Once  we  saw  between  the  squalls,  lyin'  head 
to  swell — 
Mad  with  work  and  weariness,  wishin'  they 
was  we — 
Some  damned  Liner's  lights  go  by  like  a  grand 
hotel ; 
Cheered  her  from  the  "  Bolivar,"  swampin' 
in  the  sea. 


The  English  Flag  87 

Then  a  grayback  cleared  us  out,  then  the 

skipper  laughed  ; 
"  Boys,  the  wheel  has  gone  to  Hell — rig 

the  winches  aft ! 
"  Yoke  the  kicking  rudder-head — get  her 

under  way  !  " 
So  we  steered  her,  pulley-haul,  out  across 

the  Bay  ! 

Just  a  pack  o'  rotten   plates   puttied  up  with 

tar. 
In  we  came,  an'  time  enough  'cross  Bilbao  Bar. 
Overloaded,  undermanned,  meant  to  founder, 

we 
Euchred   God  Almighty's  storm,   bluffed  the 

Eternal  Sea  ! 

Seven  men  from  all  the  world,  back  to  town  again, 
Rollin'  down  the   Ratcliffe  Road  drunk  and  raising 

Cain : 
Seven  men  from  out  of  Hell.     Ain't  the  owners  gay, 
'Cause  we  took  the  "  Bolivar  "  safe  across  the  Bay  ? 


THE  ENGLISH  FLAG 

Above  the  portico  a  flagstaff,  bearing  the  Union 
Jack,  remained  fluttering  in  the  flames  for  some  time, 
but  ultimately  when  it  fell  the  crowds  rent  the  air  with 
shouts,  and  seemed  to  see  significance  in  the  incident. 
— Daily  Papers. 

Winds  of  the  World,  give  answer  ?     They  are 

whimpering  to  and  fro — 
And  what  should  they  know  of  England  who 

only  England  know  ? — 


88  Ballads 

The  poor  little  street-bred  people  that  vapor 

and  fume  and  brag, 
They  are  lifting  their  heads  in  the  stillness  to 

yelp  at  the  English  Flag  ! 


Must  we  borrow  a  clout  from  the  Boer — to 
plaster  anew  with  dirt  ? 

An  Irish  liar's  bandage,  or  an  English  cow- 
ard's shirt  ? 

We  may  not  speak  of  England ;  her  Flag's  to 
sell  or  share. 

What  is  the  flag  of  England  ?  Winds  of  the 
World,  declare  ! 

The   North   Wind  blew  :  "  From  Bergen   my 

steel-shod  vanguards  go; 
I    chase  your    lazy  whalers    home  from    the 

Disko  floe  ; 
By  the  great   North  Lights  above  me  I  work 

the  will  of  God, 
That  the  liner  splits  on   the  ice-field  or  the 

Dogger  fills  with  cod. 

"  I  barred  my  gates  with  iron,  I  shuttered  my 

doors  with  flame, 
Because  to  force   my  ramparts  your  nutshell 

navies  came  ; 
I   took  the    sun    from  their  presence,    I  cut 

them  down  with  my  blast. 
And  they  died,  but  the  Flag  of  England  blew 

free  ere  the  spirit  passed. 


The  English  Flag  89 

"  The  lean  white  bear  hath  seen  it  in  the  long, 

long  Arctic  night, 
The  musk-ox  knows  the  standard  that  flouts 

the  Northern  Light : 
What  is  tlie  Flag  of  England  ?     Ye  have  but 

my  bergs  to  dare, 
Ye    have    but    my    drifts    to    conquer.     Go 

forth,  for  it  is  there !  '' 

The  South  Wind  sighed  :  "  From  The  Virgins 

my  mid-sea  course  was  ta'en 
Over  a  thousand  islands  lost  in  an  idle  main, 
Where   the    sea-egg  flames   on   the  coral  and 

the  long-backed  breakers  croon 
Their    endless    ocean   legends    to    the    lazy, 

locked  lagoon. 

"Strayed    amid    lonely    islets,    mazed    amid 

outer  keys, 
I  waked  the  palms  to  laughter — I  tossed  the 

scud  in  the  breeze — 
Never  was    isle  so  little,  never  was  sea  so 

lone. 
But  over  the    scud     and  the  palm-trees    an 

English  flag  was  flown. 

"  I  have  wrenched  it  free  from  the  halliard  to 
hang  for  a  wisp  on  the  Horn  ; 

I  have  chased  it  north  to  the  Lizard — rib- 
boned and  rolled  and  torn  ; 

I  have  spread  its  fold  o'er  the  dying,  adrift 
in  a  hopeless  sea  ; 

I  have  hurled  it  swift  on  the  slaver,  and 
seen  the  slave  set  free. 


90  Ballads 

"  My  basking  sunfish  know  it,  and  wheeling 

albatross, 
Where  the  lone  wave  fills  with  fire  beneath  the 

Southern  Cross. 
What  is  the  Flag  of  England  ?     Ye  have  but 

my  reefs  to  dare, 
Ye  have  but  my   seas  to  furrow.     Go  forth, 

for  it  is  there  !  " 
The  East  Wind  roared :  *'  From  the  Kuriles, 

the  Bitter  Seas,  I  come, 
And  me  men  call  the  Home-Wind,  for  I  bring 

the  English  home. 
Look — look  well  to  your  shipping !     By  the 

breath  of  my  mad  typhoon 
I  swept  your  close-packed  Praya  and  beached 

your  best  at  Kowloon  ! 

*'  The  reeling  junks  behind  me  and  the  racing 

seas  before, 
I  raped  your  richest  roadstead — I  plundered 

Singapore  ! 
I  set  my  hand  on   the  Hoogli ;  as  a  hooded 

snake  she  rose. 
And  I  flung  your  stoutest  steamers  to  roost 

with  the  startled  crows. 

"  Never  the  lotos  closes,  never  the  wild-fowl 
wake. 

But  a  soul  goes  out  on  the  East  Wind  that 
died  for  England's  sake  — 

Man  or  woman  or  suckling,  mother  or  bride 
or  maid — 

Because  on  the  bones  of  the  English  the  Eng- 
lish Flag  is  stayed. 


The  English  Flag  91 

"The  desert-dust  hath  dimmed  it,  the  flying 

wild-ass  knows 
The  scared  white  leopard  winds  it  across  the 

taintless  snows. 
What  is  the  Flag  of  England  ?     Ye  have  but 

my  sun  to  dare, 
Ye  have  but  my  sands  to  travel.      Go   forth, 

for  it  is  there !  " 
The  West  Wind  called  :     "  In  squadrons  the 

thoughtless  galleons  fly 
That    bear  the  wheat   and  cattle  lest  street- 
bred  people  die. 
They  make  my  might  their  porter,  they  make 

my  house  their  path, 
Till  I  loose  my  neck  from    their  rudder  and 

whelm  them  all  in  my  wrath. 

"  I  draw  the  gliding  fog-bank   as   a  snake  is 

drawn  from  the  hole  ; 
They   bellow    one   to  the  other,  the  frighted 

ship-bells  toll, 
For  day  is   a  drifting  terror  till  I  raise   the 

shroud  with  my  breath. 
And  they  see  strange  bows  above  them   and 

the  two  go  locked  to  death. 

"  But  whether  in  calm  or  wrack-wreath, 
whether  by  dark  or  day, 

I  heave  them  whole  to  the  conger  or  rip  their 
plates  away, 

First  of  the  scattered  legions,  under  a  shriek- 
ing sky, 

Dipping  between  the  rollers,  the  English 
Flag  goes  by. 


92  Ballads 

"  The  dead  dumb  fog  hath  wrapped  it — the 

frozen  dews  have  kissed — 
The  nalced  stars  have  seen   it,  a  fellow-star 

in  the  mist. 
What  is  the  Flag  of  England  ?     Ye  have  but 

my  breath  to  dare, 
Ye  have  but  my  waves  to  conquer.     Go  forth, 

for  it  is  there  !  " 


«  CLEARED" 

(in  memory  of  a  commission) 

Help  for  a  patriot  distressed,  a  spotless  spirit 
hurt. 

Help  for  an  honorable  clan  sore  trampled  in 
the  dirt ! 

From  Queenstown  Bay  to  Donegal,  O  listen 
to  my  song, 

The  honorable  gentlemen  have  suffered  griev- 
ous wrong. 

Their  noble  names  were  mentioned — O  the 
burning  black  disgrace  ! — 

By  a  brutal  Saxon  paper  in  an  Irish  shooting- 
case  ; 

They  sat  upon  it  for  a  year,  then  steeled  their 
heart  to  brave  it, 

And  "  coruscating  innocence "  the  learned 
Judges  gave  it. 


''  Cleared  "  93 

Bear  witness,  Heaven,  of  that  grim  crime  be- 
neath the  surgeon's  knife, 

The  honorable  gentleman  deplored  the  loss  of 
life; 

Bear  witness  of  those  chanting  choirs  that 
burk  and  shirk  and  snigger, 

No  man  laid  hand  upon  the  knife  or  finger  to 
the  trigger ! 


Cleared  in  the  face  of  all  mankind  beneath 

the  winking  skies. 
Like  phoenixes  from  Phoenix  Park  (and  what 

lay  there)  they  rise  ! 
Go  shout  it  to  the  emerald  seas — give  word 

to  Erin  now. 
Her  honorable  gentlemen  are    cleared — and 

this  is  how  : 


They  only  paid  the  Moonlighter  his  cattle- 
hocking  price. 

They  only  helped  the  murderer  with  council's 
best  advice, 

But — sure  it  keeps  their  honor  white — the 
learned  Court  believes 

They  never  gave  a  piece  of  plate  to  murderers 
and  thieves. 


They  never  told  the  ramping  crowd  to  card  a 

woman's  hide. 
They  never  marked  a  man  for  death — what 

fault  of  theirs  he  died  ? — 


94  Ballads 

They  only  said  ''  intimidate,"  and  talked  and 

went  away — 
Ey   God,    the  boys  that   did  the  work  were 

braver  men  than  they  ! 


Their  sin  it  was  that  fed  the  fire — small  blame 
to  them  that  heard — 

The  "  bhoys  "  get  drunk  on  rhetoric,  and  mad- 
den at  the  word — 

They  knew  whom  they  were  talking  at,  if  they 
were  Irish  too, 

The  gentlemen  that  lied  in  Court,  they  knew 
and  well  they  knew. 

They  only  took  the  Judas-gold  from  Fenians 
out  of  jail, 

They  only  fawned  for  dollars  on  the  blood- 
dyed  Clan-na-Gael. 

If  black  is  black  or  white  is  white,  in  black 
and  white  it's  down, 

They're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen  and  rebels 
to  the  Crown. 

*' Cleared,"  honorable  gentlemen.  Be  thank- 
ful it's  no  more  : 

The  widow's  curse  is  on  your  house,  the  dead 
are  at  your  door. 

On  you  the  shame  of  open  shame,  on  you 
from  North  to  South 

The  hand  of  every  honest  man  flat-heeled 
across  your  mouth. 


*'  Cleared  "  95 

**  Less  black  than  we  were  painted  "  ? — Faith, 

no  word  of  black  was  said ; 
The    lightest    touch    was    human  blood,  and 

that,  ye  know,  runs  red. 
It's  sticking  to  your  fist  to-day  for  all  your 

sneer  and  scoff. 
And  by  the  Judge's  well-weighed   word  you 

cannot  wipe  it  off. 


Hold  up  those  hands  of  innocence — go,  scare 
your  sheep  together. 

The  blundering,  tripping  tups  that  bleat  be- 
hind the  old  bell-weather  ; 

And  if  they  snuff  the  taint  and  break  to  find 
another  pen. 

Tell  them  it's  tar  that  glistens  so,  and  daub 
them  yours  again  ! 

*'The  charge  is  old  "  ? — As  old  as  Cain — as 

fresh  as  yesterday ; 
Old    as   the   Ten    Commandments^    have    ye 

talked  those  laws  away  ? 
If    words    are    words,    or    death  is  death,  or 

powder  sends  the  ball, 
You  spoke  the  words  that  sped  the  shot — the 

curse  be  on  you  all. 

*' Our  friends  believe"?     Of  course  they  do 

— as  sheltered  women  may ; 
But  have  they  seen  the  shrieking  soul  ripped 

from  the  quivering  clay  ? 


q6  Ballads 

They ! — If  their  own  front  door  is  shut, 
they'll  swear  the  whole  world's  warm ; 

What  do  they  know  of  dread  of  death  or  hang- 
ing fear  of  harm  ? 


The  secret  half  a  country  keeps,  the  whisper 
in  the  lane, 

The  shriek  that  tells  the  shot  went  home  be- 
hind the  broken  pane, 

The  dry  blood  crisping  in  the  sun  that  scares 
the  honest  bees, 

And  shows  the  "  bhoys  "  have  heard  your  talk 
— what  do  they  know  of  these  ? 

But  you — you  know — ay,  ten  times  more;  the 

secrets  of  the  dead. 
Black  terror  on  the  country-side  by  word  and 

whisper  bred. 
The   mangled    stallion's   scream  at  night,  the 

tail-cropped  heifer's  low. 
Who  set  the  whisper  going  first  ?     You  know, 

and  well  you  know  ! 

My  soul  !  I'd  sooner  lie  in  jail  for  murder 
plain  and  straight, 

Pure  crime  I'd  done  with  my  own  hand  for 
money,  lust,  or  hate. 

Than  take  a  seat  in  Parliament  by  fellow- 
felons  cheered, 

While  one  of  those  "  not  provens  "  proved  me 
cleared  as  you  are  cleared. 


An  Imperial  Rescript  97 

Cleared — you  that  "  lost  "  the  League  ac- 
counts— go,  guard  our  honor  still, 

Go,  help  to  make  our  country's  laws  that 
broke  God's  law  at  will — 

One  hand  stuck  out  behind  the  back,  to  signal 
"  strike  again  "  ; 

The  other  on  your  dress-shirt-front  to  show 
your  heart  is  clane. 

If  black  is  black  or  white  is  white,  in  black 
and  white  it's  down, 

You're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen  and  rebels 
to  the  Crown. 

If  print  is  print  or  words  are  words,  the  learn- 
ed Court  prepends  : 

We  are  not  ruled  by  murderers,  but  only — by 
their  friends. 


AN  IMPERIAL  RESCRIPT 

Now  this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  Ger- 
man Kaiser  decreed, 

To  ease  the  strong  of  their  burden,  to  help 
the  weak  in  their  need 

He  sent  a  word  to  the  people,  who  struggle, 
and  pant,  and  sweat. 

That  the  straw  might  be  counted  fairly  and 
the  tally  of  bricks  be  set. 

The  Lords  of  Their  Hands  assembled  ;  from 
the  East  and  the  West  they  drew — 

Baltimore,   Lille,    and    Essen,    Brummagem, 
Clyde,  and  Crewe. 
7 


98  Ballads 

And  some  were  black  from  the  furnace,  and 
some  were  brown  from  the  soil, 

And  some  were  blue  from  the  dye-vat;  but 
all  were  wearied  of  toil. 

And  the  young  King   said  "  I  have   found  it, 

the  road  to  the  rest  ye  seek 
The  strong  shall  wait  for  the  the  weary,  the 

hale  shall  halt  for  the  weak ; 
With  the   even   tramp  of  an    army  where  no 

man  breaks  from  the  line, 
Ye  shall  march  to  peace  and  plenty  in  the 

bond  of  brotherhood — sign  !  " 

The  paper  lay  on  the  table,  the  strong  heads 

bowed  thereby. 
And  a  wail  went  up  from  the  peoples  :  "  Ay, 

sign — give  rest,  for  we  die !  " 
And  hand  was  stretched  to  the  goose-quill,  a 

fist  was  cramped  to  scrawl, 
When — the  laugh  of  a  blue-eyed  maiden  ran 

clear  through  the  council-hall. 

And   each   one   heard  Her  laughing  as  each 

one  saw  Her  plain — 
Saidie,    Mimi,  or   Olga,    Gretchen,    or    Mary 

Jane. 
And  the  Spirit  of  Man  that  is  in  Him  to  the 

light  of  the  vision  woke  ; 
And  the  men  drew  back  from  the  paper,  as  a 

Yankee  delegate  spoke  : 

"  There's  a  girl  in  Jersey  City  who  works  on 
the  telephone ; 


An  Imperial  Rescript  99 

We're  going  to  hitch  our  horses  and  dig  for 
a  house  of  our  own, 

With  gas  and  water  connections,  and  steam- 
heat  through  to  the  top  ; 

And,  W.  HohenzoUern,  I  guess  I  shall  work 
till  I  drop." 

And  an  English  delegate  thundered  :     "  The 

weak  an'  the  lame  be  blowed  ! 
I've  a  berth  in  the  Sou'-West  workshops,  a 

home  in  the  Wandsworth  Road ; 
And  till  the  'sociation  has  footed  my  buryin' 

bill, 
I  work   for   the    kids   an'  the    missus.     Pull 

up !     I'll  be  damned  if  I  will !  " 

And  over  the  German  benches  the  bearded 
whisper  ran  : 

"  Lager,  der  girls  und  der  dollars,  dey  makes 
or  dey  breaks  a  man. 

If  Schmitt  haf  collared  der  dollars,  he  collars 
der  girl  deremit : 

But  if  Schmitt  bust  in  der  pizness,  we  col- 
lars der  girl  from  Schmitt." 

They  passed  one  resolution:  "Your  sub- 
committee believe 

You  can  lighten  the  curse  of  Adam  when 
you've  lightened  the  curse  of  Eve. 

But  till  we  are  built  like  angels — with  ham- 
mer and  chisel  and  pen. 

We  will  work  for  ourself  and  a  woman,  forever 
and  ever.     Amen." 


100  Ballads 

Now  this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  Ger- 
man Kaiser  held — 

The  day  that  they  razored  the  Grindstone, 
the  day  that  the  Cat  was  belled, 

The  day  of  the  Fig-s  from  Thistles,  the  day 
of  the  Twisted  Sands, 

The  day  that  the  laugh  of  a  maiden  made 
light  of  the  Lords  of  Their  Hands. 


TOMLINSON 

Now  Tomlinson    gave   up    the   ghost  in    his 

house  in  Berkeley  Square, 
And  a  Spirit  came  to  his  bedside  and  gripped 

him  by  the  hair — 
A  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair  and  carried 

him  far  away, 
Till  he  heard  as  the  roar  of  a  rain-fed  ford 

the  roar  of  the  Milky  Way, 
Till  he  heard  the  roar  of  the  Milky  Way  die 

down  and  drone  and  cease, 
And  they  came  to  the  Gate  within  the  Wall 

where  Peter  holds  the  keys. 
"  Stand  up,    stand    up  now,  Tomlinson,   and 

answer  loud  and  high 
The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men   or 

ever  ye  came  to  die — 
The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men  in 

little  earth  so  lone  !  " 
And  the  naked  soul  of  Tomlinson  grew  white 

as  a  rain-washed  bone. 


Tomlinson  loi 

"  O,  I  have  a  friend  on  earth, "  he  said,  "  that 

was  my  priest  and  guide, 
And  well  would  he  answer  all  for  me  if  he 

were  by  my  side." 
— "  For  that  ye  strove  in  neighbor-love  it  shall 

be  written  fair, 
But  now  ye  wait  at  Heaven's  Gate  and  not  in 

Berkeley  Square : 
Though  we  called   your  friend  from   his  bed 

this  night,  he  could  not  speak  for  you. 
For  the  race  is  run  by  one  and  one  and  never 

by  two  and  two." 
Then   Tomlinson   looked   up   and   down,  and 

little  gain  was  there, 
For  the  naked  stars  grinned  overhead,  and  he 

saw  that  his  soul  was  bare : 
The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  worlds,  it 

cut  him  like  a  knife. 
And  Tomlinson  took  up  his  tale  and  spoke  of 

his  good  in  life. 
"This  I  have  read  in  a  book,"  he  sa'd,  "and 

that  was  told  to  me, 
And  this  I  have   thought   that   another  man 

thought  of  a  Prince  in  Muscovy." 
The  good  souls  flocked  like  homing  doves  and 

bade  him  clear  the  path, 
And  Peter  twirled  the  jangling  keys  in  weari- 
ness and  wrath. 
"  Ye     have  read,   ye     have     heard,    ye   have 

thought,"  he  said,  "  and  the  tale    is  yet 

to  run : 
By  the  worth  of  the   body   that  once   ye  had, 

give  answer — what  ha'  ye  done  "  ? 


102  Ballads 

Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and 
little  good  it  bore, 

For  the  Darkness  stayed  at  his  shoulder-blade 
and  Heaven's  Gate  before  : 

"  Oh,  this  I  have  felt,  and  this  I  have  guessed, 
and  this  I  have  heard  men  say, 

And  this  they  wrote  that  another  man  wrote 
of  a  carl  in  Norroway." 

"  Ye  have  read,  ye  have  felt,  ye  have  guessed, 
good  lack  1  Ye  have  hampered  Heaven's 
Gate  ; 

There's  little  room  between  the  stars  in  idle- 
ness to  prate  ! 

Oh,  none  may  reach  by  hired  speech  of  neigh- 
bor, priest,  and  kin. 

Through  borrowed  deed  to  God's  good  meed 
that  lies  so  far  within  ; 

Get  hence,  get  hence  to  the  Lord  of  Wrong, 
for  doom  has  yet  to  run, 

And  .  .  .  the  faith  that  ye  share  with  Berk- 
eley Square  uphold  you,  Tomlinson  !  " 

The  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair,  and  sun  by 

sun  they  fell 
Till  they  came  to  the  belt  of  Naughty  Stars 

that  rim  the  mouth  of  Hell : 
The  first  are  red  with  pride   and  wrath,  the 

next  are  white  with  pain. 
But  the   third    are   black   with    clinkered  sin 

that  cannot  burn  again  : 
They  may   hold  their  path,  they  may   leave 

their  path,  with  never  a  soul  to  mark, 
They  may  burn   or  freeze,  but  they  must  not 

cease  in  the  Scorn  of  the  Outer  Dark. 


Tomlinson  103 

The  Wind  that  blows  between   the  worlds,  it 

nipped  him  to  the  bone, 
And  he  yearned  to  the  flare  of  Hell-gate  there 

as  the  light  of  his  own  hearthstone. 
The  Devil  he  sat  behind  the  bars,  where  the 

desperate  legions  drew, 
But  he  caught  the  hasting  Tomlinson  and  would 

not  let  him  through. 
"  Wot  ye  the  price  of  good  pit-coal  that  I  must 

pay  ?  "  said  he, 
"  That  ye  rank  yoursel'  so  fit  for  Hell  and  ask 

no  leave  of  me  ? 
I   am  all    o'er-sib  to  Adam^s  breed  that  ye 

should  give  me  scorn. 
For  I  strove   with  God  for  your  First  Father 

the  day  that  he  was  born. 
Sit  down,  sit  down  upon  the  slag,  and  answer 

loud  and  high 
The  harm  that  ye  did  to  the  Sons  of  Men  or 

ever  you  came  to  die." 
And  Tomlinson  looked  up   and  up,  and  saw 

against  the  night 
The  belly  of  a  tortured  star  blood-red  in  Hell- 
Mouth  light ; 
And  Tomlinson  looked  down   and  down,  and 

saw  beneath  his  feet 
The  frontlet  of  a  tortured  star  milk-white  in 

Hell-Mouth  heat. 
"Oh,  I  had  a  love  on  earth,"  said  he,  "that 

kissed  me  to  my  fall, 
And  if  ye  would  call  my  love  to  me  I  know 

she  would  answer  all." 
— "  All  that  ye  did  in  love  forbid  it  shall  be 

written  fair, 


104  Ballads 

But  now  ye  wait  at  Hell-Mouth  Gate  and  not 

in  Berkele}'  Square: 
Though  we  whistled  your  love  from  her  bed 

to-night,  I  trow  she  would  not  run, 
For  the  sin  ye  do  by  two  and  two  ye  must 

pay  for  one  by  one  ! " 
The  Wind  that  blows   between  the  worlds,  it 

cut  him  like  a  knife, 
And  Tomlinson  took  up  the  tale  and  spoke  of 

his  sin  in  life  : 
"  Once  I  ha'  laughed  at  the  power  of  Love  and 

twice  at  the  grip  of  the  Grave, 
And  thrice  I  ha'  patted  my  God  on  the  head 

that  men  might  call  me  brave." 
The  Devil  he  blew  on  a  brandered  soul  and 

set  it  aside  to  cool: 
*'  Do  ye  think  I  would  waste  my  good  pit-coal 

on  the  hide  of  a  brain-sick  fool  ? 
I  see  no  worth  in  the  hobnailed  mirth  or  the 

jolt-head  jest  ye  did 
That  I  should  waken  my  gentlemen  that  are 

sleeping  three  on  a  grid." 
Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and 

there  was  little  grace, 
For  Hell-Gate  filled  the  houseless  Soul  with  the 

Fear  of  Naked  Space. 
"  Nay,  this  I  ha'  heard,'  quo'  Tomlinson,  *'  and 

this  was  noised  abroad, 
And  this  I  ha'  got  from  a  Belgian  book  on  the 

word  of  a  dead  French  lord. " 
— "  Ye  ha'  heard,  ye  ha'  read,  ye  ha'  got,  good 

lack  !     And  the  tale  begins  afresh — 
Have  ye  sinned  one  sin  for  the  pride  o'  the 

eye  or  the  sinful  lust  of  the  flesh  ? " 


Tomlinson  105 

Then  Tomlinson  he  gripped  the  bars  and  yam- 
mered "  Let  me  in — 
For  I  mind  that  I  borrowed  my  neighbor's 

wife  to  sin  the  deadly  sin." 
The  Devil  he  grinned  behind  the  bars,  and 

banked  the  fires  high  : 
*'  Did  ye  read  of  that  sin  in  a  book  ?  "  said  he  ; 

and  Tomlinson  said  "  Ay  !  " 
The  Devil  he  blew  upon  his  nails,  and  the  little 

devils  ran  ; 
And  he  said,  ''Go  husk  this  whimpering  thief 

that  comes  in  the  guise  of  a  man  : 
Winnow  him   out   'twixt  star   and  star,  and 

sieve  his  proper  worth  : 
There's  sore  decline  in  Adam's  line  if  this  be 

spawn  of  earth." 
Empusa's  crew,  so  naked-new  they  may  not 

face  the  fire. 
But  weep  that  they  bin  too  small  to  sin  to  the 

height  of  their  desire. 
Over  the  coal  they  chased  the  Soul,  and  racked 

it  all  abroad, 
As  children  rifle  a  caddis-case  or  the  raven's 

foolish  hoard. 
And  back  they  came  with  the  tattered  Thing, 

as  children  after  play, 
And  they  said  :  "  The   soul  that  he  got  from 

God  he  has  bartered  clean  away. 
We  have  threshed  a  stook  of  print  and  book, 

and  winnowed  a  chattering  wind 
And  many  a  soul  wherefrom  he  stole,  but  his 

we  cannot  find: 
We  have  handled  him,  we  have  dandled  him, 

we  have  seared  him  to  the  bone, 


io6  Ballads 

And  sure  if  tooth  and  nail  show  truth  he  has 

no  soul  of  his  own." 
The  Devil  he  bowed  his  head  on  his  breast  and 

rumbled  deep  and  low : 
"  I'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should 

bid  him  go. 
Vet  close  we  lie,  and  deep  we  lie,  and  if  I 

gave  him  place. 
My  gentlemen  that   are  so  proud  would  flout 

me  to  my  face  ; 
They'd  call  my   house   a  common  stews  and 

me  a  careless  host, 
And — I  would  not  anger  my  gentlemen  for  the 

sake  of  a  shiftless  ghost." 
The  Devil  he  looked  at  the  mangled  Soul  that 

prayed  to  feel  the  flame, 
And    he   thought  of    Holy    Charity,    but    he 

thought  of  his  own  good  name  : 
"  Now  ye  could  haste  my  coal  to  waste,  and 

sit  ye  down  to  fry  : 
Did  ye  think  of  that  theft  for  yourself  ?  "  said 

he  ;  and  Tomlinson  said  "  Ay  !  " 
The  Devil  he  blew  an  outward  breath,  for  his 

heart  was  free  from  care  : 
**  Ye  have  scarce  the  soul  of  a  louse,"  he  said, 

"  but  the  roots  of  sin  are  there, 
And  for  that  sin  should  ye  come  in  were  I  the 

lord  alone. 
But  sinful  pride  has  rule  inside — and  mightier 

than  my  own. 
Honor  and  Wit,  fore-damned  they  sit,  to  each 

his  priest  and  whore  : 
Nay,  scarce  I  dare  myself  go  there,  and  you 

they'd  torture  sore. 


Tomlinson  107 

Ye  are  neither  spirit  nor  spirk,"  he  said  ;  "ye 

are  neither  book  nor  brute — 
Go,  get  ye  back  to  the  flesh  again  for  the  sake 

of  Man's  repute. 
I'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should 

mock  your  pain, 
But  look  that  ye  win  to  worthier  sin  ere   ye 

come  back  again. 
Get  hence,  the  hearse  is  at   your  door — the 

grim  black  stallions  wait — 
They  bear  your  clay  to  place  to-day.      Speed, 

lest  ye  come  too  late ! 
Go  back  to  Earth  with  a  lip  unsealed — go  back 

with  an  open  eye, 
And  carry  my  word  to  the  Sons   of  Men  or 

ever  ye  come  to  die  : 
That  the  sin  they  do  by  two  and  two  they 

must  pay  for  one  by  one — 
And     ...     the  God  that  you  took  from  a 

printed  book  be  with  you,  Tomlinson  1 " 


BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS 


DANNY   DEEVER 

"What  are  the    bugles  blowin'  for?"    said 

Files-on-Parade. 
"To  turn  you  out,  to  turn  you  out,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 
"  What  makes  you  look  so  white,  so  white  ?  " 

said  Files-on-Parade. 
"I'm  dreadin' what   I've  got  to  watch,"    the 
Color-Sergeant  said. 

For  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  you 

can  'ear  the  Dead  March  play, 
The  regiment's  in  'ollow  square — 

they're  hangin'  him  to-day  ; 
They've  taken  of  his  buttons  off  an' cut 

his  stripes  away, 
An'  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in 
the  mornin'. 

**  What  makes  the  rear-rank  breathe  so  'ard  }  " 
said  Files-on-Parade. 

"  It's  bitter  cold,  it's  bitter  cold,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

Ill 


112       Barrack- Room  Ballads 

"What     makes    that     front-rank    man     fall 

down  ?  "  says  Files-on-Parade. 
"  A  touch  of  sun,  a  touch  of  sun,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  they 

are  marchin'  of  'im  round, 
They  'ave  'alted  Danny  Deever  by  'is 

coffin  on  the  ground  ; 
An'  'e'U   swing  in  'arf  a   minute   for  a 

sneakin',  shootin'  hound — 
O  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the 
mornin' ! 

"'Is  cot   was  right-'and  cot   to    mine,"   said 

Files-on-Parade. 
"  'E's  sleepin'  out  an'  far  to-night,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 
"  I've  drunk  'is  beer  a   score  o'  times,"  said 

Files-on-Parade. 
**'E's  drinkin'  bitter  beer  alone,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin*  Danny  Deever,  you 

must  mark  'im  to  'is  place, 
For  'e   shot  a  comrade  sleepin' — you 

must  look  'im  in  the  face ; 
Nine  'undred  of  'is  county  an'  the  regi- 
ment's disgrace. 
While  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in 
the  mornin'. 

**  What's  that  so  black  agin  the  sun  ? "  said 
Files-on-Parade. 

"  It's  Danny  fightin'  'ard  for  life,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 


**  Tommy  "  113 

"What's  that  that  whimpers  over'ead?"  said 

Files-on-parade. 
"It's  Danny's  soul   that's  passin^  now,"  the 
Color-Sergeant  said. 

For  they're   done  with  Danny  Deever, 

you  can  ^ear  the  quickstep  play, 
The  regiment's  in  column,  an'  they're 

marchin'  us  away ; 
Ho  !  the  young  recruits  are  shakin',  an' 

they'll  want  their  beer  to-day, 
After   hangin'    Danny   Deever   in   the 
mornin'. 


"TOMMY" 

I  WENT  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o' 

beer, 
The  publican  'e  up  an'  sez,  '*  We  serve  no  red- 
coats here." 
The  girls  be'ind  the  bar  they  laughed  an'  gig- 
gled fit  to  die, 
I  outs   into  the    street    again,  an'  to    myself 
sez  I  : 

O  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an' 

"  Tommy  go  away  ;  " 
But  it's  "  Thank  you,  Mister  Atkins," 

when  the  band  begins  to  play. 
The  band  begins  to  play,  my  boys,  the 

band  begins  to  play, 
O  it's  "Thank    you.  Mister    Atkins,'* 
when  the  band  begins  to  play. 
8 


114       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

I  went  into  a  theater  as  sober  as  could  be, 
They  give  a  drunk  civilian   room,  but  'adn't 

none  for  me ; 
They   sent   me  to  the  gallery  or  round   the 

music-'alls, 
But  when  it   comes  to  fightin',  Lord  !  they'll 
shove  me  in  the  stalls. 

For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  "  Tommy  wait  outside  ;  " 
But   it's    "  Special    train    for   Atkins," 

when  the  trooper's  on  the  tide, 
The  Troopship's  on  the  tide,  my  boys, 
etc. 


O  makin'  mock   o'  uniforms  that  guard  you 

while  you  sleep 
Is  cheaper  than  them   uniforms,  an'  they're 

starvation  cheap  ; 
An'    hustlin'  drunken  sodgers   when    they're 

goin'  large  a  bit 
Is  five  times  better  business  than  paradin'  in 
full  kit. 

Then  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  "  Tommy,  'ow's  yer  soul  ? " 
But  it's  "  Thin  red  line  of  'eroes"  when 

the  drums  begin  to  roll, 
The  drums  begin  to  roll,  my  boys,  etc. 


We  aren't  no  thin  red  'eroes,  nor  we  aren't 

no  blackguards  too. 
But  single  men  in  barricks,  most  remarkable 

like  you ; 


"Tommy"  iiS 

An'  if  sometimes  our  conduck  isn't   all   your 

fancy  paints, 
Why,   single  men  in  barricks  don't  grow  mto 
plaster  saints. 

While   it's  Tommy  this,    an'    Tommy 

that,  an'  "  Tommy  fall  be'ind  ;  " 
But  it's  "  Please  to  walk  in  front,  sir," 
when  there's  trouble  in  the  wind, 
There's  trouble  in  the  wind,  my  boys,  etc. 

You  talk  o'  better  food  for  us,  an'  schools,  an' 

fires,  an'  all : 
We'll  wait  for  extry  rations  if  you  treat  us 

rational. 
Don't  mess  about  the  cook-room   slops,  but 

prove  it  to  our  face 
The  Widow's  uniform  is  not  the  soldier-man's 
disgrace. 

For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 
an'  "  Chuck  him  out,  the  brute  !" 
But  it's  "  Saviour  of  'is  country  "  when 

the  guns  begin  to  shoot ; 
An'  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy   that, 

an'  anything  you  please  ; 
An'  Tommy  ain't  a  bloomin'  fool — you 
bet  that  Tommy  sees  ! 


Ii6       Barrack-Room  Ballads 


«  FUZZY-WUZZY  " 

{Soudan  Expeditionary  Force.) 

We've  fought  with  many  men  acrost  the  seas, 
An'  some  of  'em  was  brave   an'  some  was 
not : 
The  Paythan  an'  the  Zulu  an'  Burmese  ; 
But  the  Fuzzy  was  the  finest  o'  the  lot. 
We  never  got  a  ha'porth's  change  of  'im : 

'E  squatted  in  the  scrub  an'  'ocked  our  'orses, 
'E  cut  our  sentries  up  at  S\i2.kim, 

An'  'e  played   the   cat  an'   banjo  with  our 
forces. 
So  *ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your 

'ome  in  the  Sowdan  ; 
You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a 

first-class  fightin'  man  ; 
We  gives  you  your  certifikit,  an'  if  you 

want  it  signed 
We'll  come  an'  'ave  a  romp  with  you 
whenever  you're  inclined. 

We  took  our  chanst  among  the  Kyber  'ills, 
The  Boers  knocked  us  silly  at  a  mile, 

The  Burman  guv  us  Irriwaddy  chills, 
An'  a  Zulu  i7?ij)i  dished  us  up  in  style: 

But  all  we  ever  got  from  such  as  they 

Was  pop  to  what  the  Fuzzy  made  us  swaller ; 


"  Fuzzy-Wuzzy  "  117 

We  *eld  our  bloomin'  own,  the  papers  say, 
But  man  for  man   the    Fuzzy   knocked  us 

'oiler. 
Then   'ere's   to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  an' 

the  missis  and  the  kid  ; 
Our  orders  was   to  break  you,  an'  of 

course  we  went  an'  did. 
We  sloshed  you  with   Martinis,  an'  it 

wasn't  'ardly  fair  ; 
But  for  all  the   odds  agin  you,  Fuzzy- 

Wuz,  you  bruk  the  square. 

*E  'asn't  got  no  papers  of  'is  own, 

'E  'asn't  got  no  medals  nor  rewards, 
So  we  must  certify  the  skill  'e's  shown 

In  usin'  of  'is  long  two-'anded  swords: 
When  'e's  'oppin'  in   an'  out  among  the  bush 
With  'is  coffin-'eaded  shield  an'  shovel-spear, 
A  'appy  day  with  Fuzzy  on  the  rush 
Will  last  a  'ealthy  Tommy  for  a  year. 

So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  an'  your 

friends  which  is  no  more. 
If  we  'adn't  lost  some  messmates  we 

would  'elp  you  to  deplore ; 
But  give  an'  take's  the  gospel,  an'  we'll 

call  the  bargain  fair. 
For  if  you  'ave  lost  more  than   us,  you 
crumpled  up  the  square ! 

'E  rushes  at  the  smoke  when  w^e  let  drive, 
An',  before  we  know,  'e's  'ackin'  at  our  'ead  ; 

*E's  all  'ot  sand  an'  ginger  when  alive, 

An'  'e's  generally  shammin'  when  'e's  dead. 


ii8       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

'E's  a  daisy,  'e's  a  ducky,  'e's  a  lamb  ! 
'E's  a  injia-rubber  idiot  on  the  spree, 
'E's  the  on'y  thing  that  doesn't  care  a  damn 
For  the  Regiment  o'  British  Infantree. 

So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your 

'ome  in  the  Sowdan  ; 
You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a 

first-class  fightin'  man  ; 
An'  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  with 

your  'ayrick  'ead  of  'air — 
You  big  black  boundin'  beggar — for  you 
bruk  a  British  square. 


OONTS ! 

{Northern  India   Transport  Train) 

Wot  makes   the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot 

makes  'im  to  perspire  ? 
It  isn't  standin'  up  to  charge  or  lyin*  down  to 

fire  ; 
But  it's  everlastin'  waitin'  on  a  everlastin'  road 
For  the  commissariat  camel  an'  'is  commis- 
sariat load. 

O  the  oont,''  O  the  ooni,  O  the  commis- 

asriat  oontl 
With   'is   silly   neck  a-bobbin'   like  a 
basket  full  o'  snakes  ; 

1  Camel :  oo  is  pronounced  like  u  in  "  bull/*  but  by 
Mr.  Atkins  to  rhyme  with  "  front." 


Oonts  r  119 

We  packs  'im  like  a  idol,  an'  you  ought 

to   ear  'im  grunt, 
An'    when    we  gets  'im   loaded  up  'is 

blessed  girth-rope  breaks. 

Wot  makes  the  rear-guard  swear  so  'ard  when 

night  is  drorin'  in, 
An'  every  native   follower  is   shiverin'  for  'is 

skin  ? 
It  ain't  the  chanst  o'  bein'  rushed  by  Paythans 

frum  the  'ills. 
It's    the   commissariat    camel   puttin'    on    'is 
blessed  frills  ! 

O  the  oont^  O  the  oojit^  O  the  hairy 

scary  oont ! 
A-trippin'  over  tent-ropes  when  we've 

got  the  night  alarm  ; 
We  socks  'im  with  a  stretcher-pole  an' 

'eads  'im  off  in  front, 
An'  when  we've  saved  'is  bloomin'  life 
'e  chaws  our  bloomin'  arm. 

The  'orse  'e  knows  above  a  bit,  the  bullock's 
but  a  fool. 

The  elephant's    a   gentleman,    the   baggage- 
mule's  a  mule  ; 

But  the  commissariat  cam-u-el,   when  all   is 
said  an'  done, 

'E's  a  devil  an'  a  ostrich  an'  a  orphan-child  in 
one. 

O  the  oont,  O   the  oont,  O  the  Gawd- 
forsaken  oont ! 


120       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

The  'umpy-lumpy,  'ummin'-bird  a-sing- 

where  'e  lies, 
'E's   blocked    the    *ole    division    from 

the  rear-guard  to  the  front, 
An'  when  we   gets  'im  up  again — the 

beggar  goes  an'  dies  ! 

'E'll  gall  an*  chafe  an'  lame  an'  fight ;  'e  smells 

most  awful  vile ; 
'E'U  lose  'imself  forever  if  you  let  'im  stray  a 

mile ; 
'E's  game  to  graze  the  'ole   day  long  an'  'owl 

the  'ole  night  through, 
An'  when  'e  comes  to  greasy  ground  'e  splits 
'isself  in  two. 

O    the    oont,  O    the  oont,  O    the  flop- 
pin',  droppin'  oont  I 
When  'is  long  legs  give  from  under  an' 

'is  meltin'  eye  is  dim, 
The  tribes  is  up  be'ind  us  an'  the  tribes 

is  out  in  front, 
It  ain't  no  jam   for  Tommy,  but  it's 
kites  and  crows  for  'im. 


So  when  the  cruel  march  is  done  an*  when 
the  roads  is  blind, 

An'  when  we  sees  the  camp  in  front  an'  'ears 
the  shots  be'ind, 

O  then  we  strips  'is  saddle  off,  an'  all  'is  woes 
is  past : 

*E  thinks  on  us  that  used  'im  so,  an'  gets  re- 
venge at  last. 


Loot  121 

O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  floatin', 
bloatin'  oont  I 

The  late  lamented  camel  in  the  water- 
cut  he  lies  ; 

We  keeps  a  mile  behind  'im  an'  we  keeps 
a  mile  in  front, 

But  'e  gets  into  the  drinkin'  casks,  and 
then  o'  course  we  dies. 


LOOT 


If  you've   ever  stole   a  pheasant-egg  be'ind 
the  keeper's  back, 
If  you've  ever  snigged  the  washin'  from  the 
line, 
If  you've    ever   crammed    a  gander  in  your 
bloomin'  'aversack. 
You    will    understand    this    little    song    o* 
mine. 
But  the  service  rules  are  'ard,  an'  frum  such 
we  are  debarred, 
For  the   same  with  British  morals  does  not 
suit  (Corned-     Toot!  toot!) — 
W'y,  they  call   a  man  a  robber  if  'e   stuffs  'is 
marchin'  clobber 
With  the— 
{Chorus.)     Loo  1    loo  1     Lulu  1     lulu  !    Loo  I 
loo  !     Loot !  loot !  loot  I 
'Ow  the  loot' 
Bloomin'  loot ! 


122       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

That's  the  thing  to  make  the  boys  git 
up  an'  shoot ! 
It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
Clap    'em   forward   with    a    Loo !  loo ! 
Lulu  !     Loot ! 
(ff)  Whoopee  !     Tear  'im,  puppy  !  Loo  !  loo  ! 
Lulu  !     Loot !  loot !  loot ! 

If  you've  knocked  a  nigger  edgeways  when 
'e's  thrustin'  for  your  life, 
You  must  leave  'im  very  careful  where  'e 
fell; 
An'  may  thank  your  stars   an'  gaiters   if  you 
didn't  feel  'is  knife 
That  you  ain't  told  off  to  bury  him  as  well. 
Then  the  sweatin'  Tommies  w^onder  as  they 
spade  the  beggars  under 
Why  lootin'  should  be  entered  as  a  crime; 
So  if  my  song  you'll  'ear,  I  will  learn  you  plain 
an'  clear 
'Ow  to  pay  yourself  for  fightin'  overtime 
{Chorus. )     With  the  loot,  etc. 

Now  remember  when  you're  'acking  round  a 
gilded  Burma  god 
That  'is  eyes  is  very  often  precious  stones ; 
An'  if  you  treat  a  nigger  to  a  dose  o'  cleanin'- 
rod 
'E's  like  to  show  you  everything  'e  owns. 
When  'e  won't  prodooce  no  more,  pour  some 
water  on  the  floor 
Where  you  'ear  it  answer  'ollow  to  the  boot 
{Cornet :     Toot !  toot !)— 


Loot  123 

When  the  ground  begins  to  sink,  shove  your 
baynick  down  the  chink, 
An'  you're  sure  to  touch  the — 
{Chorus.)     Loo  !    loo  !     Lulu  !     Loot !    loot ! 
loot! 

'Ow  the  loot,  etc. 

When  from  'ouse  to  'ouse  you're  'untin'  you 
must  always  work  in  pairs — 
It  'alves  the  gain,  but  safer  you  will  find — 
For  a  single  man  gits  bottled  on  them  twisty- 
wisty  stairs, 
An'  a  woman    comes  and  clobs  'im   from 
be'ind. 
When  you've  turned    'em  inside  out,  an'  it 
seems  beyond  a  doubt 
As  if  there  weren't  enough  to  dust  a  flute 
{Cornet:     Toot!     toot!) — 
Before  you  sling  your  'ook,  at  the  'ouse-tops 
take  a  look, 
For  it's  underneath  the  tiles   they  'ide  the 
loot. 
{Chorus.)     'Ow  the  loot,  etc. 

You  can  mostly  square  a  Sergint  an'  a  Quar- 
ter-master too, 
If  you  only  take  the  proper  way  to  go  ; 
/   could   never    keep   my   pickin's   but   I've 
learned  you  all  I  know — 
An'  don't  you  never  say  I  told  you  so. 
An'  now  I'll  bid  good-by,  for  I'm  gettin'  rather 
dry. 
An'  I  see  another  tunin'  up  to  toot  {Cornet: 
Toot!    toot!)— 


124       Barrack- Room  Ballads 

So  'ere's  good-luck  to  those  that  wears  the 
Widow's  clo'es, 
An'  the    Devil  send   'em  all  they  want   o' 

loot! 
{Chorus^     Yes,  the  loot, 

Bloomin'  loot. 
In  the  tunic  an'  the  mess-tin  an'  the  boot ! 
It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
Whoop    'em   forward   with  the  Loo  !    loo  I 

Lulu  !    Loot !     loot !    loot ! 
Heeya  1      Sick    'im,    puppy  !     Loo  I     loo  I 
Lulu  !     Loot !     loot !     loot  I 


*'  SNARLEYOW  " 

This  'appened  in  a  battle  to  a  batt'ry  of  the 
corps 

Which  is  first  among  the  women  an'  amazin* 
first  in  war ; 

An'  what  the  bloomin'  battle  was  I  don't  re- 
member now, 

But  Two's  off-lead  'e  answered  to  the  name  o' 
Snarleyow. 

Down  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares; 
Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears; 
But    down   in  the  lead,  with    the   wheel 

at  the  flog, 
Turns    the   bold   Bombardier  to  a  little 
whipped  dog ! 


*'  Snarleyow ''  125 

They  was  movin'  into  action,  they  was  needed 

very  sore, 
To    learn  a  little   schoolin'  to  a  native  army 

corps. 
They  'ad  nipped  against  an   uphill,  they  was 

tuckin'  down  the  brow, 
When  a  tricky,  trundlin'  round-shot  gave  the 

knock  to  Snarleyow. 

They  cut  'im  loose  an'  left  'im — 'e  was  almost 
tore  in  two, — 

But  'e  tried  to  follow  after,  as  a  well-trained 
'orse  should  do. 

*Ewent  an'  fouled  the  limber,  an'  the  Driver's 
Brother  squeals  : 

**  Pull  up,  pull  up  for  Snarleyow — 'is  'ead's  be- 
tween 'is  'eels  ! " 

The  Driver  'umped  'is  shoulder,  for  the  wheels 

was  goin'  round, 
An*  there  aren't  no  "  Stop,  conductor  !  "  when 

a  batt'ry's  changin'  ground. 
Sez  *e  :  "I  broke  the  beggar  in,  an'  very  sad 

I  feels, 
But  I  couldn't  pull  up,  not  iov  yoi^ — your  'ead 

between  your  'eels  !  " 

'E  'adn't  'ardly  spoke  the  word,  before  a 
droppin'  shell 

A  little  right  the  batt'ry  and  between  the  sec- 
tions fell; 

An'  when  the  smoke  'ad  cleared  away,  before 
the  limber  wheels, 

There  lay  the  Driver's  Brother  with  'is  'ead 
between  'is  'eels. 


126       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

Then  sez  the  Driver's  Brother,  an'  'is  words 

was  very  plain, 
"  For  Gawd's  own  sake,  get  over  me,  an'  put 

me  out  o'  pain !  " 
They  saw  'is    wounds  was    mortal,    an'  they 

judged  that  it  was  best, 
So  they  took    an'  drove  the    limber    straight 

across  'is  back  an'  chest. 

The   Driver    'e    gave     nothin'   'cept    a    little 

coughin'  grunt — 
But  'e  swung  'is  'orses  'andsome  when  it  came 

to  *'  Action  front !  " 
An'  if  one  wheel  was  juicy,  you  may  lay  your 

Monday  'ead, 
'Twas  juicier   for  the  niggers  when  the  case 

begun  to  spread. 

The  moril  of   this  story — it  is   plainly  to  be 

seen  : 
You   'aven't  got  no  families  when  servin'  of 

the  Queen — 
You   'aven't  got  no  brothers,  fathers,  sisters, 

wives,  or  sons  ; 
If  you  want  to  win  your  battles,  take  an'  work 

your  bloomin'  guns  ! 

Down  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares  ; 
Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears ; 
But   down    in  the  lead,  with  the  wheel 

at  the  flog, 
Turns  the  bold  Bombardier   to   a   little 

whipped  dog  ! 


Soldier,  Soldier  127 


SOLDIER,  SOLDIER. 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

Why  don't  you  march  with  my  true  love  ?  " 
"  We're  fresh  from  off  the  ship,  an'  'e's  maybe 
give  the  slip. 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 
New  love  I     True  love  ! 
Best  go  look  for  a  new  love, 
The   dead  they    cannot  rise,   an^  you^d 

better  dry  your  eyes, 
An^  you^d  best  go  look  for  a  fiew  love, 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
What  did  you  see  o'  my  true  love  ?  " 

"  I  see  'im   serve  the   Queen  in  a  suit  o'  rifle 
green, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars. 
Did  ye  see  no  more  o'  my  true  love  1  " 

"  I   see  'im  runnin'  by   when  the  shots  begun 
to  fly- 
But  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
Did  aught  take  'arm  to  my  true  love?  " 

*'  I  couldn't  see  the  fight,  for  the  smoke  it  lay 
so  white — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 


128       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
I'll  up  an'  tend  to  my  true  love  ! " 

"  'E's  lying  on  the  dead  with  a  bullet  through 
'is  'ead, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love. " 

*'  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
I'll  lie  down  an'  die  with  my  true  love  !" 

"The  pit   we  dug'U  'ide 'im  an' twenty  men 
beside  'im — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
Do  you  bring  no  sign  from  my  true  love  ?" 

*'  I  bring  a  lock  of  'air  that  'e  alius  used  to  wear, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

**  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
O  then   I   know  it's  true  I've  lost  my  true 
love!" 
"  An'  I  tell  you  truth  again — when  you've  lost 
the  feel  o'  pain 
You'd  best  take  me  for  your  true  love. " 
True  love  !    New  love  ! 
Best  take  ^imfor  a  7iew  love. 
2'he   dead  they  cannot  rise,    an''  you'd 

better  dry  your  eyes, 
An^ you'd  best  take  'imfor  your  true  love. 


The  Sons  of  the  Widow     129 


THE  SONS  OF  THE  WIDOW 

'Ave  you  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 
Witii  a  hairy  gold  crown  on  'er  'ead  ? 
She  'as  ships  on  the  foam — she  'as  millions  at 
'ome, 
An*  she  pays  us  poor  beggars  in  red. 
(Ow,  poor  beggars  in  red  !) 
There's  'er  nick  on  the  cavalry  'orses 

There's  'er  mark  on  the  medical  stores — 
An*  'er  troopers  you'll  find  with  a  fair  wind 
be'ind 
That  takes  us  to  various  wars. 

(Poor  beggars  ! — barbarious  wars  !) 
Then  'ere's  to  the  Widow  at  Windsofj 
An'  'ere's  to  the  stores  an'  the 
guns, 
The  men  an'  the  'orses  what  makes 
up  the  forces 
O'  Missis  Victorier's  sons. 
(Poor  beggars  ! — Victorier's  sons  I) 

Walk  wide  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

For  'alf  o'  creation  she  owns: 
We  *ave  bought  'er  the  same  with  the  sword 
an'  the  flame, 
An*  we've  salted  it  down  with  our  bones. 
(Poor    beggars ! — it's   blue    with    our 
bones.) 
Hands  off  o'  the  sons  of  the  Widow, 
Hands  off  o'  the  goods  in  'er  shop, 
9 


130       Barrack- Room  Ballads 

For  the  Kings  must  come  down  an'  the  Em- 
peror frown 
When  the  Widow  at  Windsor  says  "  Stop  !  '* 
(Poor    beggars  ! — we're    sent    to    say 
"  Stop  !  ") 
Then   'ere's   to  the  Lodge   o'  the 
Widow, 
From  the  Pole  to  the  Tropics  it 
runs — 
To  the  Lodge  that  we  tile  with  the 
rank  an'  the  file, 
An'  open  in  forms  with  the  guns. 
(Poor  beggars ! — it's  always  them  guns !) 

We  *ave  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 

It's  safest  to  let  'er  alone  : 
For  'er  sentries  we  stand  by  the  sea  an'  the  land 
Wherever  the  bugles  are  blown. 

(Poor    beggars  ! — an'    don't    we    get 
blown  !) 
Take  'old  o'  the  wings  o'  the  mornin', 

An'  flop  round  the  earth  till  you're  dead ; 
But  you  won't  get  away  from  the  tune  that 
they  play 
To  the  bloomin'  old  rag  over'ead. 

(Poor  beggars  ! — it's  'ot  over'ead  !) 

Then    'ere's   to    the    sons   o'  the 
Widow, 
Wherever,  'owever  they  roam. 
'Ere's  all  they  desire,  an'  if  they 
require 
A  speedy  return  to  their  'ome. 
(Poor  beggars  ! — they'll  never  see 'ome!) 


Troopin'  131 


TROOPIN' 

[Our  Army  in  the  East.) 

Troopin',  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea : 
'Ere's    September  come    again — the   six-year 

men  are  free. 
O  leave  the  dead  be'ind  us,  for  they  cannot 

come  away 
To  where  the  ship's  a-coalin'  up  that  take  us 

'ome  to  day. 

We're  goin'  'ome  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 

An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 

Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me. 

My  lovely  Mary-Anne, 

For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on   a  fourp'ny 

bit 
As  a  time-expired  man. 

The  Malabar's  in  'arbor  with  the  Jummer  at 

'er  tail, 
An'  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  'is  orders  for 

to  sail. 
O  the  weary  waitin'  when  on  Khyber  'ills  we 

lay 
But  the  time-expired's   waitin'    of  'is  orders 

'ome  to-day. 


132       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

They'll   turn   us  out  at  Portsmouth   wharf  in 

cold  an'  v;et  an'  rain, 
All  wearin'  Injian  cotton  kit,  but  we  will  not 

complain  ; 
They'll  kill  us  of  pneumonia — for  that's  their 

little  way — 
But    damn    the    chills  and  fever,  men,   we're 

goin'  'ome  to-day ! 

Troopin',  troopin' — winter's  round  again  ! 
See   the    new  draf's  pourin'  in   for  the    old 

campaign  ; 
Ho,  you   poor  recruities,  but  you've  got   to 

earn  your  pay — 
What's  the  last  from  Lunnon,  lads  ?     We're 

goin'  there  to-day. 

Troopin',  troopin',  give  another  cheer — 
'Ere's  to  English  women  an'  a  quart  of  Eng- 
lish beer; 
The  Colonel  an'  the  regiment  an'  all  who've 

got  to  stay, 
Gawd's    mercy    strike    'em    gentle — Whoop! 
we're  goin'  'ome  to  day. 

We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 

An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 

Ho,  don't  5'ou  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary- Anne, 

For  I'll   marry  you   yit  on  a  fourp'ny 

bit 
As  a  time-expired  man. 


Gunga  Din  133 


GUNGA  DIN 

The  bhisti,  or  water-carrier,  attached  to  regiments 
in  India,  is  often  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  the. 
Queen's  servants.     He  is  also  appreciated  by  the  men. 

[this  ballad  is  extensively  plagiarized.] 

You  may  talk  o'  gin  an'  beer 

When  you're  quartered  safe  out  'ere, 

An'  you're  sent  to  penny-fights  an'  Aldershot 

it; 
But  if  it  comes  to  slaughter 
You  will  do  your  work  on  water, 
An'  you'll  lick  the  bloomin'  boats  of  'im  that's 

got  it.^^ 
Now  in  Injia's  sunny  clime, 
Where  I  used  to  spend  my  time 
A-servin'  of  'Er  Majesty  the  Queen, 
Of  all  them  black-faced  crew 
The  finest  man  I  knew 
Was  our  regimental  bhisti^  Gunga  Din, 
He  was  "  Din  !  Din  !  Din  ! 
You  limping  lump  o'  brick-dust,  Gunga 

Din! 
Hi  !  slippy  hit  her ao  ! 
Water,  get  it !     Hanee  lao  / ' 
You    squidgy-nosed   old   idol,   Gunga 
Din  !  " 

The  uniform  'e  wore 
Was  nothin'  much  before, 

1  Bring  water  swiftly. 


134       Barrack- Room  Ballads 

An'  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind, 
For  a  twisty  piece  o'  rag 
An'  a  goatskin  water  bag 
Was  all  the  field-equipment  'e  could  find. 
When  the  sweatin'  troop-train  lay- 
In  a  sidin'  through  the  day, 
Where    the    'eat   would   make  your  bloomin' 

eyebrows  crawl, 
We  shouted  "Harry  By!"' 
Till  our  throats  were  bricky-dry. 
Then  we  wopped  'im  'cause  'e  couldn't  serve 
us  all. 

It  was  "  Din  !  Din  !  Din  ! 

You  'eathen,  where  the  mischief  'ave 

you  been  ? 
You  put  somQ  j'lddee  in  it. 
Or  I'll  marrow  you  this  minute  "^ 
If  you  don't  fill  up  my  helmet,  Gunga 
Din  !  " 

'E  would  dot  an'  carry  one 

Till  the  longest  day  was  done, 

An'  'e  didn't  seem  to  know  the  use  o'  fear. 

If  we  charged  or  broke  or  cut. 

You  could  bet  your  bloomin'  nut, 

'E'd  be  vvaitin'  fifty  pace's  right  flank  rear. 

With  'is  mussick  on  'is  back, 

'E  would  skip  with  our  attack, 

An'  watch  us  till  the  bugles  made  "  Retire." 

An'  for  all  'is  dirty  'ide 

1  Mr.  Atkins's  equivalent  for  "  O  Brother !  " 

2  Hit  you. 


Gunga  Din  135 

'E  was  white,  clear  white,  inside 
When  'e  went  to  tend  the  wounded  under  fire! 
It  was  "  Din  !     Din  !     Din  !  " 
With  the  bullets   kickin'  dust-spots  on 

the  green. 
When  the  cartridges  ran  out, 
You  could  'ear  the  front-files  shout : 
"  Hi  !    amnmnition-mules    an'   Gunga 
Din  !  " 

I  sha'n't  forgit  the  night 

When  1  dropped  be'ind  the  fight 

With  a  bullet  where  my  belt-plate  should  'a' 

been. 
I  was  chokin'  mad  with  thirst. 
An'  the  man  that  spied  me  first 
Was  our   good    old  grinnin',  gruntin'  Gunga 

Din. 
'E  lifted  up  my  'ead, 
An'  'e  plugged  me  w^here  I  bled, 
An'  'e  guv  me  'arf-a-pint  o'  water — green  : 
It  was  crawlin'  and  it  stunk, 
But  of  all  the  drinks  I've  drunk, 
I'm  gratefullest  to  one  from  Gunga  Din. 
It  was  "Din!     Din!     Din! 
'Ere's  a  beggar  with  a  bullet  through  'is 

spleen  ; 
'E's  chawin'up  the  ground  an'  'e's  kick- 
in'  all  around  : 
For  Gawd's  sake  git  the  water,  Gunga 
Din!" 

'E  carried  me  away 
To  where  a  dooli  lay, 


136       Barrack- Room  Ballads 

An'  a  bullet  come  an'  drilled  the  beggar  clean. 

'E  put  me  safe  inside, 

An,  just  before  'e  died: 

"  1  'ope  you  liked  your  drink,"  sez  Gunga  Din, 

So  I'll  meet  'im  later  on 

In  the  place  where  'e  is  gone — 

Where  it's  always  double  drill  and  no  canteen  ; 

'E'll  be  squattin'  on  the  coals 

Givin'  drink  to  pore  damned  souls, 

An'  I'll  get  a  swig  in  Hell  from  Gunga  Din ! 

Din  !     Din  !     Din  ! 

You  Lazarushian-leather  Gunga  Din! 

Tho'  I've  belted  you  an'  flayed  you. 

By  the  livin'  Gawd  that  made  you, 

You're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  Gunga 
Din! 


MANDALAY 

By  the   old   Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  east- 
ward to  the  sea, 
There's  a  Burma  girl  a-settin',  an'  I  know  she 

thinks  o'  me ; 
For  the    wind    is    in    the    palm-trees,  an'  the 

temple-bells  they  say : 
Come  you  back,   you  British    soldier  :  come 
you  back  to  Mandalay  !  " 

Come  you  back  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay  : 

Can't  you  'ear  their  paddles  chunkin' 

from 
Rangoon  to  Mandalay  ? 


Mandalay  137 

O  the  road  to  ^landalay, 

Where  the  iiyin'-fishes  play, 

An'  the  dawn  comes   up  like  thunder 

outer 
China  'crost  the  Bay ! 

'Er  petticut  was  yaller    an'  'er  little  cap    was 

green, 
An'  'er  name  was  Supi-yaw-lat — jes'  the  same 

as  Theebaw's  Queen, 
An'  I  seed  her  fust  a-smokin'  of  a  whackin' 

white  cheroot, 
An'  a-wastin'  Christian    kisses  on    an  'eathen 
idol's  foot : 
Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud — 
Wot  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd— 
Plucky  lot    she  cared  for  idols  when  I 

kissed  'er  where  she  stud  ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice-fields  an'  the 

sun  was  droppin'  slow, 
She'd  git  'er  little  banjo  an'  she'd  sing  "  Kul- 

la-Io-lo  !  " 
With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder  an'  her  cheek 

agin  my  cheek 
We  useter  watch   the  steamers  and  the  hathis 
pilin'  teak. 
Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 
In  the  sludgy  squdgy  creek. 
Where  the   silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you 

was  'arf  afraid  to  speak  ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 


138       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

But  that's  all  shove  be'ind   me — long  ago  an' 

fur  away, 
An'   there   ain't    no  'buses    runnin'  from    the 

Benk  to  Mandalay  ; 
An'  I'm  learnin'  'ere  in  London  what  the  ten- 
year  sodger  tells  : 
"  If  you've  'eard  the  East  a-calling,"  why,  you 
w^on't  'eed  nothin'  else." 

No  !  you  won't  'eed  nothin'  else 

But  them  spicy  garlic  smells 

An' the  sunshine  an'  the  palm-trees  an' 

the  tinkly  temple-bells  ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

I  am    sick  o'  wastin'  leather  on  these  gutty 

pavin'-stones, 
An'  the  blasted   Henglish  drizzle  wakes  the 

fever  in  my  bones  ; 
Tho'  I  walks  wath  fifty  'ousemaids  outer  Chel- 
sea to  the  Strand, 
An'  they  talks  a  lot  o'  lovin',  but  wot  do  they 
understand  ? 

Beefy  face  an'  grubby  'and — 

Law  !  wot  do  they  understand  ? 

I've   a    neater,    sweeter    maiden    in    a 

cleaner  greener  land  ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez  where  the 

best  is  like  the  worst. 
Where  there  aren't  no    Ten    CommandmentSj 

an'  a  man  can  raise  a  thirst ; 


The  Young  British  Soldier     139 

P'or  the  temple-bells  are  callin',  an'  it's  there 

that  I  would  be — 
By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  lazy  at 
the  sea — 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay, 
With    our   sick   beneath    the    awnings 

when  we  went  to  Mandalay  ! 
Oh,  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An'  the  dawn   comes  up   like   thunder 
outer  China  'crost  the  Bay  ! 


THE  YOUNG  BRITISH  SOLDIER 

When  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out  to  the 

East 
'E  acts  like  a  babe  an'  'e  drinks  like  a  beast, 
An'  'e    wonders    because  'e   is    frequent  de- 
ceased 

Ere  'e's  fit  for  to  serve  as  a  soldier. 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier. 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

So-oldier  y^^the  Queen  ! 

Now  all  you  recruities  what's  drafted  to-day. 
You  shut  up  3^our  rag-box  an'  'ark  to  my  lay, 
An'  I'll  sing  you  a  soldier  as  far  as  I  may  : 

A  soldier  what's  fit  for  a  soldier. 

Fit,  fit,  fit  for  a  soldier — 


140       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

First,  mind  you  steer  clear  o'  the  grog-sellers' 

huts, 
For  they  sell  you  Fixed  Bay'nets  that  rots  out 

your  guts — 
Ay,  drink  that  'ud  eat  the  live  steel  from  your 
butts— 

An'    it's   bad   for   the    young   British 
soldier. 
Bad,  bad,  bad  for  the  soldier — 

When   the  cholera   comes — as   it  will  past  a 

doubt — 
Keep   out   of  the   wet  and  don't  go  on    the 

shout, 
For  the  sickness   comes  in   as  the  liquor  dies 
out, 

An'  it  crumples  the  young  British  sol- 
dier. 
Crum-,    crum-,    crumples    the    sol- 
dier— 

But  the  worst  o'  your  foes  is  the  sun  over- 
head ; 
You    must   wear   your  *elmet  for  all  that    is 

said. 
If  'e    finds    you    uncovered    ^e'll  knock  you 
down  dead, 

An'  you'll  die  like  a  fool  of  a  soldier. 
Fool,  fool,  fool  of  a  soldier — 

If  you're   cast  for  fatigue  by  a  sergeant  un- 
kind, 


The  Young  British  Soldier     141 

Don't  grouse  like    a  woman  nor  crack  on  nor 

blind  ; 
Be  handy  and  civil,  and  then  you  will  find 

As  it's  beer  for  the   young  British  sol- 
dier. 
Beer,  beer,  beer  for  the  soldier — 

Now,   if  you   must  marry,  take  care   she  is 

old— 
A    troop-sergeant's    widow's  the    nicest    I'm 

told— 
For  beauty  won't  help  if  your  vittles  is  cold, 
An'  love  ain't  enough  for  a  soldier. 
'Nough,     'nough,      'nough     for      a 
soldier — 

If  the  wife  should  go  wrong  with  a  comrade, 

be  loath 
To  shoot  when  you  catch 'em — you'll  swing  on 

my  oath  ! — 
Make  'im  take  *er  and  keep  'er  ;  that's  hell  for 
them  both, 

An'  you're  quit  o'  the  curse  of  a  soldier. 
Curse,  curse,  curse  of  a  soldier — 

When   first  under  fire    an'  you're  wishful  to 

duck. 
Don't  look  or  take  'eed  at  the  man  that  is 

struck: 
Be    thankful  you're  livin*  an'  trust   to   your 
luck, 

An'  march  to  your  front  like  a  soldier. 
Front,  front,  front  like  a  soldier. 


142       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

When  'arf  of  your  bullets  fly  wide  in  the  ditch, 
Don't  call  your  Martini  a  cross-eyed  old  bitch  ; 
She's   human  as   you  are — you  treat  her  as 
sich, 

An'  she'll  light  for  the  young   British 
soldier. 
Fight,  fight,  fight  for  the  soldier — 

When  shakin'  their  bustles  like  ladies  so  fine 
The  guns  'o  the  enemy  wheel  into  line  ; 
Shoot  low  at  the  limbers  and  don't  mind  the 
shine, 

For  noise  never  startles  the  soldier. 
Start-,  start-,  startles  the  soldier — 

If  your  officer's  dead  and  the  sergeants  look 

white, 
Remember  it's  ruin  to  run  from  a  fight ; 
So  take  open  order,  lie  down,  and  sit  tight, 
An'  wait  for  supports  like  a  soldier. 
Wait,  wait,  wait,  like  a  soldier — 

When  you're  wounded  an'  left  on  Afghanistan's 

plains, 
An'  the  women   come  out  to  cut   up  your  re- 
mains, 
Jest  roll  to  your  rifle  an'  blow  out  your  brains, 
An'  go  to  your  Gawd  like  a  soldier  : 
Go,  go,  go  like  soldier, 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier 
So-oldier  /w/the  Queen. 


Screw-Guns  143 


SCREW-GUNS 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the   mountings,  sniffin' 

ttie  mornin'-cool, 
I  walks  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my 

old  brown  mule, 
With  seventy  gunners  be'ind  me,  an'  never  a 

beggar  forgets 
It's  only  the  pick  o'  the  Army  that   handles 

the  dear  little  pets — Tss  !    Tss  ! 

For   you    all    love    the    screw-guns — the 

screw-guns  they  all  love  you. 
So  when  we  call  round   with  a  few  guns, 

o'  course  you  will  know  what  to  do 

— hoo  !   hoo  ! 
Jest   send  in  your  Chief  an'  surrender — 

it's  worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs  : 
You   can   go  where   you  please,  you   can 

skid  up  the  trees,  but  you  don't  get 

away  from  the  guns. 

They  send  us  along  where  the  roads  are,  but 

mostly  we  goes  where  they  ain't  ; 
We'd  climb   up   the  side   of  a  sign-board  an' 

trust  to  the  stick  o'  the  paint ; 
We've  chivied    the    Nava    an'  Lushai,  we've 

give  the  Afreedeeman  fits, 
For  we  fancies  ourselves  at  two  thousand,  we 

guns  that  are  built  in  two  bits — Tss  !  Tss  f 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 


144       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

If  a  man  doesn't  work,  why,  we  drills  'im  an* 

teaches  'im  'ow  to  be'ave, 
If  a  beggar  can't  march,  why,  we  kills  'im  an' 

rattles  'im  into  'is  grave. 
You've  got  to   stand  up   to  our  business  an' 

spring  without  snatchin'  or  fuss. 
D'you  say  that  you  sweat  with  the  field-guns? 

By  God,  you  must  lather  with  us — Tss  I 

Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 

The  eagles  is  screamin'  around  us,  the  river's 

a-moanin'  below. 
We're    clear    o'  the  pine  an'   the  oak-scrub, 

we're  out  on  the  rocks  an'  the  snow. 
An'  the   wind  is  as  thin  as  a  whip-lash  what 

carries  away  to  the  plains 
The  rattle  an'  stamp  o'  the   lead-mules — the 

jinglety-jink    o'   the    chains — Tss  !    Tss  ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 

There's  a  wheel  on  the  Plorns  o'  the  Mornin' 

an'  a  wheel  on  the  edge  o'  the  Pit, 
An'  a  drop  into  nothin'  beneath  us  as  straight 

as  a  beggar  can  spit ; 
With  the  sweat  runnin'  out  o'  your  shirt-sleeves 

an'  the  sun  off  the  snow  in  your  face. 
An'  'arf  o'  the  men  on  the  drag-ropes  to  hold 

the  old  gun  in  'er  place — Tss  !  Tss  ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffm'  the 

mornin'-cool, 
I  climbs  in  my  old  brov.'n  gaiters  along  o'  my 

old  brown  mule. 


Belts  145 

The  monkey  can  say  what  our  road  was — the 
wild-goat  'e  knows  where  we  passed. 

Stand  easy,  you  long-eared  old  darlin's  !  Out 
drag-ropes !  With  shrapnel  !  Hold 
fast!— Tss!     Tss  ! 

For   you    all    love    the    screw-guns — the 

screw-guns  they  all  love  you  ! 
So    when    we  take    tea    with  a  few  guns, 

o'  course  you   will  know  what    to  do 

— hoo  !  hoo ! 
Just  send  in  your  Chief  and    surrender — 

it's  worse  if  you  fights    or  you  runs  : 
You    may  hide    in  the   caves,  they'll  he 

only  your  graves,  but  you  don't  get 

away  from  the  guns  ! 


BELTS 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  that's  near 

to  Dublin  Quay, 
Between  an  Irish  regiment  an'  English  caval- 

ree  ; 
It  started  at  Revelly  an'  it  lasted  on  till  dark  ; 
The  first  man  dropped  at  Harrison's  the  last 

forninst  the  Park. 
For  it  was  '^  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  one 

for  you !  " 
An*  it  was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  done 

for  you  !  " 

O  buckle  an'  tongue 

Was  the  song  that  we  sung 

From  Harrison's  on  to  the  Park ! 

10 


146       Barrack-Room  Ballads 

There  was  a  row  in    Silver  Street — the  regi- 
ments was  out, 

They    called  us  "  Delhi    Rebels,"  an'  we    an- 
swered    "  Threes  about !  " 

That  drew  them  like  a  hornet's  nest — we  met 
them  good  an'  large, 

The  English  at  the  double  an'  the  Irish  at  the 
charge. 

Then  it  was  :  Belts — ■ 

There  was  a  row  in    Silver  Street — an'  I  was 

in  it  too  ; 
We  passed  the  time  o'  day,  an'  then  the  belts 

went  ti'hirraru  ! 
I  misremember  what  occurred,  but  subsequint 

the  storm 
A  Freeman s  Journal  Siipplemijit   was    all  my 
uniform. 

O  it  was  :  Belts — 

There  v/as  a   row  in    Silver  Street — they  sent 

the  Polls  there, 
The    English    were   too  drunk    to  know,  the 

Irish  did't  care  ; 
But  when  they  grew  impertinint  we  simulta- 
neous rose, 
Till  half  o'  them  was  Liffey  mud  an'  half  was 
tatthered  clo'es. 

For  it  was  :  Belts — 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  might  ha* 

raged  till  now, 
But    some   one  drew  his    side-arm  clear,  an' 

nobody  knew  how ; 


Belts  147 

'Twas  Hogan  took  the  point  an'  dropped  ;  we 

saw  the  red  blood  run  : 
An'  so  we  all  was  murderers  that  started  out 

in  fun. 

While  it  was  :   Belts — 

There  was  a   row  in    Silver  Street — but  that 

took  off  the  shine, 
Wid  each  man  whishperin'  to  his  next  : 

"  'Twas  never  work  o'  mine  ! " 
We  went  away  like  beaten  dogs,  an'  down  the 

street  we  bore  him, 
The  poor   dumb  corpse   that  couldn't  see  the 

bhoys  were  sorry  for  him. 
When  it  was  :  Belts — 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  isn't  over 

yet, 
For  half  of   us  are  under  guard   wid  punish- 

mints  to  get  ; 
'Tis  all  a  mericle  to  me  as  in  the  Clink  I  lie  ; 
There  was   a  row   in  Silver  Street — begod,  1 
wonder  why ! 

But    it    was   "  Belts,    belts,    belts,    an' 

that's  one  for  you  !  " 
An'    it    was    "  Belts,    belts,   belts,   an' 

that's  done  for  you  1  " 
O  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park ! 


T48       Barrack-Room  Ballads 


FORD  O'  KABUL  RIVER 

Kabul  town's  by  Kabul  river — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  ! — 
There  I  left  my  mate  forever, 
Wet  an'  dripping'  by  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 
Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark  ! 
There's-  the    river  up  an'  brimmin*,  an' 
there's  'arf  a  squadron  swiramin' 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the 
dark. 

Kabul  town's  a  blasted  place — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  ! — 
'Strew^th  I  sha'n't  forget  'is  face, 
Wet  an'  drippin'  by  the  ford  ! 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 
Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
Keep  the  crossin'-stakes  beside  you,  an' 
they  will  surely  guide  you 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the 
dark. 
Kabul  town  is  sun  an'  dust — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  ! — 
I'd  ha'  sooner  drownded  fust 
'Stead  of  'im  beside  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 
Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
You  can  'ear  the  'orses  thrashin',  you  can 
'ear  the  men  a-splashin' 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the 
dark. 


Ford  o'  Kabul  River        149 

Kabul  town  was  ours  to  take — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  ! — 
I'd  ha'  left  it  for  'is  sake — 
'Im  that  left  me  by  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 
Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark  ! 
It's  none    so    bloomin'    dry    there,    ain't 
you  never  comin'  nigh  there, 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the 
dark? 

Kabul  town '11  go  to  hell — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  ! — 
'Fore  I  see  'im  'live  an'  well — 
'Im  the  best  beside  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 
Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark  ! 
Gawd  'elp  'em   if  they  blunder — for  their 
boots'll  pull  'em  under. 
By  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Turn  your  'orse  from  Kabul  town — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword ! — • 
'Im  an'  'arf  my  troop  is  down — 
Down  an'  drownded  by  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 
Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
There's  the  river  low  an'  fallin',  but  it 
ain't  no  use  o^  callin' 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the 
dark. 


1 50       Barrack-Room  Ballads 


ROUTE  MARCHIN' 

We're  marchin'  on  relief  over  Injia's   sunny 

plains, 
A  little  front  o'  Christmas-time  an'  just  be'ind 

the  Rains. 
Ho  !  get  away,  you  bullock-man  1  you've  'eard 

the  bugle  blowed — 
There's  a  regiment  a-comin'  down   the  Grand 
Trunk  Road — 

With  its  best  foot  first, 
An'  the  road  a-slidin'past, 
An'  every   bloomin'   campin'-ground   ex- 
actly like  the  last ; 
While  the  Big  Drum  says, 
With  'is  "  Rowdy-dowdy-dow  !  " — 
^^  Kiko  kissywarsti  don' i  you  hams  her  argy 
joiv  /  "  ' 

Oh,   there's   them   Injian   temples  to  admire 
when  you  see ; 

There's  the  peacock  round  the  corner  an'  the 
monkey  up  the  tree ; 

An'  there's  that  rummy  silver-grass  a-wavin'  in 
the  wind, 

An'  the  old  Grand  Trunk  a-trailin'  like  a  rifle- 
sling  be'ind. 

While  it's  best  foot  first,  etc. 

At  half  past  five's  Revelly,  an'  our  tents  they 

down  must  come, 
Like  a  lot  o'  button  mushrooms  when  you  pick 

'em  up  at  'ome. 


Route  Marchin'  151 

But  it's  over  in  a  minute,  an'  at  six  the  column 

starts, 
While  the  women  an'  the  kiddies  sit  an'  shiver 

in  the  carts. 

An'  it's  best  foot  first,  etc. 
Oh,  then  it's  open  order,  an'  we  lights  our  pipes 

an'  sings, 
An'  we  talks  about   our  rations   an'   a  lot   of 

other  things  ; 
An'  we  thinks,  o'   friends  in  England,  an'  we 

wonders  what  they're  at, 
An'  'ow  they  would  admire  for  to  'ear  us  sling 

the  bat} 

An'  it's  best  foot  first,  etc. 

It's  none  so  bad  o'  Sunday,  v/hen  you're  lyin' 

at  your  ease. 
To   watch    the   kites    a-wheelin'  round  them 

feather-'eaded  trees — 
For  although  there  ain't  no  women,  yet  there 

ain't  no  barrick-yards. 
So  the  orficers  goes  shootin'  an'  the  men  they 

plays  at  cards. 

Till  it's  best  foot  first,  etc. 

So  'ark  an'  'eed,  you  rookies,  which  is  always 

grumblin'  sore, — 
There's   worser    things    than    marchin'   from 

Umballa  to  Cavvnpcre ; 

1  Thomas's  first  and  firmest  conviction  is  that  he  is  a 
profound  Orientalist  and  a  fluent  speaker  of  Hindustani. 
Asa  matter  of  fact,  he  depends  largely  on  the  sign- 
language. 


152       Barrack- Room  Ballads 

An'  if  your 'eels  are  blistered,  an'  they  feels  to 

'urt  like  'ell, 
You  drop  some  tallow  in  your  socks,  an'  that 
will  make  'em  well. 

For  it's  best  foot  first,  etc. 
We're  marchin'   on   relief   over   Injia's    coral 

strand — 
Eight  'undred  fightin'   Englishmen,    the   Col- 
onel, and  the  Band. 
Ho  !  get  away,  you  bullock-man  !  you'v^e  *eard 

the  bugle  blowed — 
There's  a  regiment  a-comin'  down  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road — 

With  its  best  foot  first, 
An'  the  road  a-slidin'past, 
An'  every  bloomin'   campin'-ground  ex- 
actly like  the  last ; 
While  the  big  drum  says, 
With  its  "  Rowdy-dowdy-dow !  " 
^  Kiko  kissywarsti  don't    you   hamsher  argy 
jow  ?  " ' 

1  Why  don't  you  get  on  ? 


OTHER  VERSES 


TO  THE  UNKNOWN  GODDESS 

Will  you  conquer  my  heart  with  your  beauty  ; 

my  soul  going  out  from  afar  ? 
Shall  I  fall  to  your  hand  as  a  victim  of  crafty 

and  cautious  shikar  ? 

Have  I  met  you  and  passed  you  already,  un- 
knowing, unthinking  and  blind  ? 

Shall  I  meet  you  next  session  at  Simla,  O 
sweetest  and  best  of  your  kind  ? 

Does  the  P.  and  O.  bear  you  to  me-ward,  or, 
clad  in  short  frocks  in  the  West, 

Are  you  growing  the  charms  that  shall  capture 
and  torture  the  heart  in  my  breast  ? 

Will  you  stay  in  the  Plains  till  September — 
my  passion  as  warm  as  the  day  ? 

Will  you  bring  me  to  book  on  the  Mountains, 
or  where  the  thermantidotes  play  ? 

When  the  light  of  your  eyes  shall  make  pallid 
the  mean  lesser  lights  I  pursue, 

And  the  charm  of  your  presence  shall  lure  me 
from  love  of  the  gay  "  thirteen-tvvo  ;  " 

155 


156  other  Verses 

When  the  peg  and  the  pig-skin  shall  please 
not;  when  I  buy  me  Calcutta-built  clothes  ; 

When  I  quit  the  Delight  of  Wild  Asses ;  for- 
swearing the  swearing  of  oaths  ; 

As  a  deer  to  the  hand  of  the  hunter  when  I 
turn  'mid  the  gibes  of  my  friends ; 

When  the  days  of  ray  freedom  are  numbered, 
and  the  life  of  the  bachelor  ends. 

Ah  Goddess  !  child,  spinster,  or  widow — as  of 
old  on  Mars  Hill  when  they  raised 

To  the  God  that  they  knew  not  an  altar — so 
I,  a  young  Pagan,  have  praised 

The  Goddess  I  know  not  nor  worship  ;  yet,  if 

half  that  men  tell  me  be  true, 
You  will  come  in  the    future,  and  therefore 

these  verses  are  written  to  you. 


THE  RUPAIYAT  OF  OMAR  KAL  VIN 

[Allowing  for  the  difference  'twixt  prose  and  rhymed 
exaggeration,  this  ought  to  reproduce  the  sense  of  what 

Sir  A told  the  nation   some  time  ago,  when  the 

Government  struck  from  our  incomes  two  per  cent.] 

Now  the  New  Year,  reviving  last  Year's  Debt, 
The  Thoughtful  Fisher  casteth  wide  his  Net ; 
So  I  with  begging  Dish   and  ready  Tongue 
Assail  all  Men  for  ail  that  I  can  get. 


The  Rupaiyat  of  Omar  Kal  Vin     157 

Imports  indeed  are  gone  with  all  their  Dues — 
Lo !  Salt  a  Lever  that  1  dare  not  use, 

Nor  may  I  ask  the  Tillers  in  Bengal — 
Surely  my  Kith  and  Kin  will  not  refuse  ! 

Pay — and  I  promise  by  the  Dust  of  Spring, 
Retrenchment.      If  my  promises  can  bring 
Comfort,  Ye  have  Them   now  a   thousand- 
fold— 
By  Allah  !     I  will  promise  Anything  I 

Indeed,  indeed,  Retrenchment  oft  before 
I  swore — but  did  I  mean  it  when  I  swore? 
And  then,   and  then,  We  wandered  to  the 
Hills, 
And  so  the  Little  Less  became  Much  More. 

Whether  at  Boileaugunge  or  Babylon, 

I  know  not  how  the  wretched  Thing  is  done, 

The  Items  of  Receipt  grow  surely  small ; 
The  Items  of  Expense  mount  one  by  one. 

I  cannot  help  it.     What  have  I  to  do 

With  One   and  Five,  or   Four,  or  Three,   or 

Two  ? 
Let  Scribes  spit  Blood  and  Sulphur  as  they 

please. 
Or  Statemen  call  me  foolish — Heed  not  you. 

Behold,  I  promise — Anything  You  will. 
Behold,  I  greet  you  with  an  empty  Till — 
Ah  !     Fellow-Sinners,  of  your  Charity 
Seek  not  the  Reason  of  the  Dearth,  but  fill. 


158  other  Verses 

For  if  I  sinned  and  fell,  where  lies  the  Gain 
Of  Knowledge  ?     Would  it  ease  you  of  your 
Pain 
To  know  the  tangled  Threads  of  Revenue, 
I  ravel  deeper  in  a  hopeless  Skein  ? 

*'  Who  hath  not  Prudence  " — what  was  it  I  said, 
Of  Her  who  paints  her   Eyes   and   tires  Her 

Head, 
And  gibes   and  mocks  the   People  in  the 

Street, 
And    fawns    upon    them    for    Her    thriftless 

Bread  ? 

Accursed  is  She  of  Eve's  daughters — She 
Hath  cast  off  Prudence,  and  Her  End  shall  be 
Destruction  .   .  .  Brethren,  of  your  Bounty 
grant 
Some  portion  of  your  daily  Bread  to  Me. 


LA  NUIT  BLANCHE 

A  MUCH-DISCERNING  Public  hold 
The  Singer  generally  sings 
Of  personal  and  private  things, 

And  prints  and  sells  his  past  for  gold. 

Whatever  I  may  here  disclaim, 
The  very  clever  folk  I  sing  to 
Will  most  indubitably  cling  to 

Their  pet  delusion,  just  the  same. 

I  HAD  seen,  as  dawn  was  breaking 
And  I  staggered  to  my  rest, 


La  Nuit  Blanche  159 

Tari  Devi  softly  shaking 

From  the  Cart  Road  to  the  crest. 
I  had  seen  the  spurs  of  Jakko 

Heave  and  quiver,  swell  and  sink. 
Was  it  Earthquake  or  tobacco, 

Day  of  Doom  or  Night  of  Drink  ? 

In  the  full,  fresh,  fragrant  morning 

I  observed  a  camel  crawl. 
Laws  of  gravitation  scorning, 

On  the  ceiling  and  the  \vall ; 
Then  I  watched  a  fender  walking, 

And  I  heard  gray  leeches  sing, 
And  a  red-hot  monkey  talking 

Did  not  seem  the  proper  thing. 

Then  a  Creature,  skinned  and  crimson, 

Ran  about  the  floor  and  cried. 
And  they  said  I  had  the  "  jims  "  on, 

And  they  dosed  me  with  bromide, 
And  they  locked  me  in  my  bedroom — 

Me  and  one  wee  Blood  Red  Mouse — 
Though  I  said  :  "  To  give  my  head  room 

You  had  best  unroof  the  house." 

But  my  words  were  all  unheeded, 

Though  I  told  the  grave  M.  D. 
That  the  treatment  really  needed 

Was  a  dip  in  open  sea 
That  was  lapping  just  before  me, 

Smooth  as  silver,  white  as  snow, 
And  it  took  three  men  to  throw  me 

When  I  found  I  could  not  go. 


i6o  Other  Verses 

Half  the  night  I  watched  the  Heavens 

Fizz  like  '8i  champagne — 
Fly  to  sixes  and  to  sevens, 

Wheel  and  thunder  back  again  ; 
And  when  all  was  peace  and  order 

Save  one  planet  nailed  askew, 
Much  I  wept  because  my  warder 

Would  not  let  me  set  it  true. 


After  frenzied  hours  of  waiting, 

When  the  Earth  and  Skies  were  dumb. 
Pealed  an  awful  voice  dictating 

An  interminable  sum, 
Changing  to  a  tangled  story — 

"  What  she  said  you  said  I  said — " 
Till  the  Moon  arose  in  glory, 

And  found  her  ...  in  my  head; 


Then  a  face  came,  blind  and  weeping, 

And  It  couldn't  wipe  Its  eyes, 
And  It  muttered  I  was  keeping 

Back  the  moonlight  from  the  skies ; 
So  I  patted  It  for  pity, 

But  It  whistled  shrill  with  wrath, 
And  a  huge  black  Devil  City 

Poured  its  peoples  on  my  path. 

So  I  fled  with  steps  uncertain 
On  a  thousand-year  long  race, 

But  the  bellying  of  the  curtain 
Kept  me  always  in  one  place  ; 


My  Rival  i6i 

While  the  tumult  rose  and  maddened 

To  the  roar  of  Earth  on  fire, 
Ere  it  ebbed  and  sank  and  saddened 

To  a  whisper  tense  as  wire. 

In  intolerable  stillness 

Rose  one  little,  little  star, 
And  it  chuckled  at  my  illness, 

And  it  mocked  me  from  afar  ; 
And  its  brethren  came  and  e3'ed  me, 

Called  the  Universe  to  aid, 
Till  I  lay,  with  naught  to  hide  me, 

'Neath  the  Scorn  of  All  Things  Made. 

Dun  and  saffron,  robed  and  splendid, 

Broke  the  solemn,  pitying  Day, 
And  I  knew  my  pains  were  ended, 

And  I  turned  and  tried  to  pray  ; 
But  my  speech  was  shattered  wholly, 

And  I  wept  as  children  weep, 
Till  the  dawn-wind,  softly,  slowly. 

Brought  to  burning  eyelids  sleep. 


I\IY  RIVAL 

I  go  to  concert,  party,  ball — 

What  profit  is  in  these? 
I  sit  alone  against  the  wall 

And  strive  to  look  at  ease. 
The  incense  that  is  mine  by  right 

They  burn  before  Her  shrine  ; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty-nine. 
II 


i62  other  Verses 

I  cannot  check  my  girlish  blush, 

My  color  comes  and  goes  ; 
I  redden  to  my  finger-tips, 

And  sometimes  to  my  nose. 
But  She  is  white  where  white  should  be, 

And  red  where  red  should  shine. 
The  blush  that  flies  at  seventeen 

Is  fixed  at  forty-nine. 

I  wish  /  had  Her  constant  cheek: 

I  wish  that  I  could  sing 
All  sorts  of  funny  little  songs, 

Not  quite  the  proper  thing. 
I'm  very  gauche  and  very  shy, 

Her  jokes  aren't  in  my  line; 

And,  worst  of  all,  I'm  seventeen 

While  She  is  forty-nine. 

The  young  men  come,  the  young  men  go 

Each  pink  and  white  and  neat. 
She's  older  than  their  mothers^  but 

They  grovel  at  Her  feet. 
They  walk  beside  Her  ^rickshaw  vi^heels— 

None  ever  walk  by  mine ; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty-nine. 

She  rides  with  half  a  dozen  men, 

(She  calls  them  "boys  "  and  '' mashers") 

I  trot  along  the  Mall  alone  ; 
My  prettiest  frocks  and  sashes 

Don't  help  to  fill  my  program-card, 
And  vainly  I  repine 


The  Lovers'  Litany  163 

From  ten  to  two  a.  m.     Ah  me  ! 
Would  I  were  forty-nine  ! 

She  calls  me  "  darling,"   "  pet,"  and   "dear,** 

And  "  sweet  retiring  maid." 
I'm  always  at  the  back,  I  know, 

She  puts  me  in  the  shade. 
She  introduces  me  to  men, 

"  Cast  "  lovers,  I  opine, 
For  sixty  takes  to  seventeen, 

Nineteen  to  forty-nine. 

But  even  She  must  older  grow 

And  end  Her  dancing  days, 
She  can't  go  on  forever  so 

At  concerts,  balls,  and  plays. 
One  ray  of  priceless  hope  I  see 

Before  my  footsteps  shine  ; 
Just  think,  that  She'll  be  eighty-one 

When  I  am  forty-nine. 


THE  LOVERS'  LITANY 

Eyes  of  gray — a  sodden  quay, 

Driving  rain  and  falling  tears. 

As  the  steamer  wears  to  sea 

In  a  parting  storm  of  cheers. 

Sing,  for  Faith  and  Hope  are  high— 
None  so  true  as  you  and  I — 
Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 
"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  I  " 


164  Other  Verses 

Eyes  of  black — a  throbbing  keel, 
Milky  foam  to  left  and  right ; 
Whispered  converse  near  the  wheel 
In  the  brilliant  tropic  night. 

Cross  that  rules  the  Southern  Sky ! 
Stars  that  sweep  and  wheel  and  fly, 
Hear  the  Lovers'  Litany  — 
"  Love  like  ours  can  7iever  die  !  " 


Eyes  of  brown — a  dusty  plain 
Spit  and  parched  with  heat  of  June, 
Flying  hoof  and  tightened  rein, 
Hearts  that  beat  the  old.  old  tune. 
Side  by  side  the  horses  fi}', 
Frame  we  now  the  old  reply 
Of  the  Lover's  Litany  : — 
"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  " 


Zyes  of  blue — the  Simla  Hills 
Silvered  with  the  moonlight  hoar; 
Pleading  of  the  v;altz  that  thrills, 
Dies  and  echoes  round  Benmore. 
"  Mabei:'  "  Officers,''  "  Good-hy;' 
Glamour,  wine,  and  witchery — 
On  my  soul's  sincerity, 
*'  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  I  " 

Maidens,  of  your  charity. 
Pity  my  most  luckless  state. 
Four  times  Cupid's  debtor  I— 
Bankrupt  in  quadruplicate. 


A  Ballad  of  Burial  165 

Yet,  despite  this  evil  case, 
An  a  maiden  showed  me  grace, 
Four-and-Forty  times  would  I 
Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 
"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !^* 


A  BALLAD  OF  BURIAL 

("  Saint  Praxed^s  ever  was  the  Church  for  peace,*) 

If  down  here  I  chance  to  die, 

Solemnly  I  beg  you  take 
All  that  is  left  of  "  I  " 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 
Pack  me  very  thoroughly 

In  the  ice  that  used  to  slake 
Pegs  I  drank  \vhen  I  was  dry — 

This  observe  for  old  sake's  sake. 

To  the  railway  station  hie, 

There  a  single  ticket  take 
For  Umballa — goods-train — I 

Shall  not  mind  delay  or  shake. 
I  shall  rest  contentedly 

Spite  of  clamor  coolies  make; 
Thus  in  state  and  dignity 

Send  me  up  for  old  sake's  sake* 

Next  the  sleepy  Babu  wake, 
Book  a  Kalka  van  ''  for  four." 

Few,  I  think,  wall  care  to  make 
Journeys  with  me  any  more 


1 66  Other  Verses 

As  they  used  to  do  of  yore. 

I  shall  need  a  "  special  "  break — 
Thing  I  never  took  before — 

Get  me  one  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that — arrangements  make. 

No  hotel  will  take  me  in, 
And  a  bullock's  back  would  break 

'Neath  the  teak  and  leaden  skin. 
Tonga  ropes  are  frail  and  thin, 

Or,  did  I  a  back-seat  take. 
In  a  tonga  I  might  spin, — 

Do  your  best  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that — your  work  is  done. 

Recollect  a  Padre  must 
Mourn  the  dear  departed  one — 

Throw  the  ashes  and  the  dust. 
Don't  go  down  at  once.      I  trust 

You  will  find  excuse  to  "  snake 
Three  days'  casual  on  the  bust," 

Get  your  fun  for  old  sake's  sake. 

I  could  never  stand  the  Plains. 

Think  of  blazing  June  and  May, 
Think  of  those  September  rains 

Yearly  till  the  Judgment  Day! 
I  should  never  rest  in  peace, 

I  should  sweat  and  lie  awake. 
Rail  me  then,  on  my  decease, 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 


Divided  Destinies  167 


DIVIDED  DESTINIES 

It   was    an   artless    Bandar,  and  he  danced 

upon  a  pine, 
And   much   I    wondered    how  he  lived,  and 

where  the  beast  might  dine, 
And   many,  many   other  things,  till,   o'er  my 

morning  smoke, 
I  slept  the  sleep   of  idleness  and  dreamt  that 

Bandar  spoke. 

He    said  :    "  O  man  of  many  clothes  !      Sad 

crawler  on  the  Hills  ! 
Observe,  I  know  not  Ranken's  shop,  nor  Ran- 

ken's  monthly  bills  ; 
I  take   no  heed  to  trousers  or  the  coats  that 

you  call  dress  ; 
Nor  am   I  plagued  with   little  cards  for  little 

drinks  at  Mess. 

*'  I  steal  the  bunnia's  grain  at  morn,  at  noon 

and  eventide, 
(For  he  is  fat  and  I  am  spare),  I  roam   the 

mountain  side, 
I  follow  no  man's  carriage,  and  no,  never  in 

my  life 
Have  i  flirted  at  Peliti's  with  2ino\.\\Qr  Bandaf^s 

wife. 

*'  O  man  of  futile  fopperies — unnecessary 
wraps  ; 

I  own  no  ponies  in  the  hills,  I  drive  no  tall- 
wheeled  traps  ; 


1 70  Other  Verses 

Di7ti.    Census  the  byle  and  the  yabu — capture 

a  first-class  Babu, 
Set    him   to  cut  Gazetteers — Gazetteers  .  .   . 

{ff.)  What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation,  etc., 
etc. 

Interlude,  from    Noivhere   in  particular  to 
stringed  and  Oriental  insiriime^its. 

Our   cattle  reel  beneath  the  yoke  they  bear — 
The  earth  is  iron,  and  the  skies  are  brass — 

And  faint  with  fervor  of  the  flaming  air 
The  languid  hours  pass. 

The  well  is  dry  beneath  the  village  trees — 
The  young  wheat  withers  ere  it  reach  a 
span, 

And  belts  of  blinding  sand  show  cruelly 
Where  once  the  river  ran. 

Pray,  brothers,  pray,  but  to  no  earthly  King — 
Lift  up  your  hands  above    the  blighted 
grain. 
Look  westward — if  they  please,  the  Gods  shall 
bring 
Their  mercy  with  the  rain. 

Look  westward — bears  the  blue  no  brown 
cloud-bank  ? 

Nay,  it  is  written — wherefore  should  we  fly? 
On  our  own  field  and  by  our  cattle's  flank 

Lie  down,  lie  down  to  die  ! 


The  Masque  of  Plenty      171 

Semi-Chorus. 

By  the  plumed  heads  of  Kings 

Waving  high, 
Where  the  tall  corn  springs 

O'er  the  dead. 


If  they  rust  or  rot  we  die, 

If  they  ripen  we  are  fed. 

Very  mighty  is  the  power  of  our  Kings ! 


Triumphal  return  to  Simla  of  the  Investigators, 
attired  after  the  manner  of  Dionysius,  leading 
a  pet  tiger-cub  in  wreaths  of  rhubarb  leaves, 
symbolical  of  India  under  medical  treatment. 
They  sing: — 


We  have  seen,  we  have  written — behold  it,  the 

proof  of  our  manifold  toil  ! 
In  their  hosts  they  assembled  and  told  it — the 

tale  of  the  sons  of  the  soil. 
We  have  said  of  the  Sickness,  "  Where  is  it  ? " — 

and  of  Death,  "  It  is  far  from  our  ken  ;  " 
We  have  paid  a  particular  visit  to  the  affluent 

children  of  men. 
We  have  trodden  the  mart  and  the  well-curb — 

we  have   stooped    to  the   bield   and  the 

byre  : 
And  the  King  may  the  forces  of  Hell  curb,  for 

the  People  have  all  they  desire  ! 


174  Other  Verses 

And  registration — free  — 

In  the  houses  of  dea:h  and  of  birth  : 

And  fashioned  with  pens  and  papei^ 

And  fashioned  in  black  and  white. 

With  Life  for  tiickering  taper 

And  Death  for  a  blazing  light — 

With  the  Armed  and  the  Civil  Power, 

That  his  strength  might  endure  for  a  span. 

From  Adam's  Bridge  to  Peshawur, 

The  Much  Administered  man. 

In  the  towns  of  the  North  and  the  East, 

They  gathered  as  unto  rule. 

They  bade  him  starve  the  priest 

And  send  his  children  to  schooL 

Railways  and  roads  they  wrought. 

For  the  needs  of  the  soil  within ; 

A  time  to  squabble  in  court, 

A  time  to  bear  and  to  grin. 

And  gave  him  peace  in  his  ways. 

Jails — and  Police  to  fight. 

Justice  at  length  of  days. 

And  Right — and  Might  in  the  Right 

His  speech  is  of  mortgaged  bedding, 

On  his  kine  he  borrows  yet. 

At  his  heart  is  his  daughter's  wedding 

In  his  eye  foreknowledge  of  debt. 

He  eats  and  hath  indigestion. 

He  toils  and  he  may  not  stop  ; 

His  life  is  a  long-drawn  question 

Between  a  crop  and  a  crop. 


The  Mare's  Nest  175 


THE  MARE'S  NEST 

Jane  Austen  Beecher  Stowe  de  Rouse 
Was  good  beyond  all  earthly  need  ; 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  her  spouse 
Was  very,  very  bad  indeed. 

He  smoked  cigars,  called  churches  slow, 

And  raced — but  this  she  did  not  know. 

For  Belial  Machiavelli  kept 

The  little  fact  a  secret,  and. 
Though  o'er  his  minor  sins  she  wept, 

Jane  Austen  did  not  understand 
That  Lilly — thirteen-two  and  bay — 
Absorbed  one  half  her  husband's  pay. 

She  was  so  good,  she  made  him  worse  ; 

(Some  women  are  like  this,  I  think  ;) 
He  taught  her  parrot  how  to  curse. 

Her  Assam  monkey  how  to  drink. 
He  vexed  her  righteous  soul  until 
She  went  up,  and  he  went  down  hill. 

Then  came  the  crisis,  strange  to  say. 
Which  turned  a  good  wife  to  a  better. 

A  telegraphic  peon,  one  day. 

Brought  her — now,  had  it  been  a  letter 

For  Belial  Machiavelli,  I 

Know  Jane  would  just  have  let  it  lie. 

But  'twas  a  telegram  instead, 

Marked  "  urgent/'  and  her  duty  plain 


178  other  Verses 

And,  when  we  leave  the  heated  room, 
And,  when  at  four  the  lights  expire, 
The  crew  shall  gather  round  the  fire 

And  mock  our  laughter  in  the  gloom. 

Talk  as  we  talk,  and  they  ere  death — 
First  wanly,  dance  in  ghostly  wise, 
With  ghosts  of  tunes  for  melodies, 

And  vanish  at  the  morning's  breath. 


CHRISTMAS    IN    INDIA 

Dim  dawn  behind  the  tamarisks — the   sky  is 
saffron-yellow — 
As  the  women  in  the  village  grind  the  corn, 
And  the  parrots  seek  the  river-side,  each  call- 
ing to  his  fellow 
That  the  Day,  the  staring  Eastern  Day  is 
born. 
Oh  the  white  dust  on  the  highway  !     Oh 
the  stenches  in  the  byway! 
Oh  the   clammy  fog  that  hovers  over 
earth  ! 
And    at    Home    they're    making    merry 
'neath  the  white  and  scarlet  berry — 
What  part  have  India's  exiles  in  their 
mirth  ? 


Full   day  behind   the  tamarisks — the    sky  is 
blue  and  staring — 
As  the  cattle  crawl  afield  beneath  the  yoke, 


Christmas  in  India  179 

And  they  bear  One  o'er  the  field-path,  who  is 
past  all  hope  or  caring, 
To  the  ghat  below  the  curling  wreaths  of 
smoke. 
Call  on  Rama,  going  slowly,  as  ye  bear 
a  brother  lowly 
Call  on  Rama — he  may  hear,  perhaps, 
your  voice  ! 
With    our  hymn-books  and  our  psalters 
we  appeal  to  other  altars, 
And   to-day   we  bid    "  good  Christian 
men  rejoice !" 

High  noon  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sun  is 
hot  above  us — 
As  at  Home  the  Christmas  Day  is  breaking 
wan. 
They  will  drink  our  healths  at  dinner — those 
who  tell  us  how  they  love  us, 
And  forget  us  till  another  year  be  gone  ! 
Oh  the   toil   that  knows   no  breaking! 
Oh  the  Hehmveh,  ceaseless,  aching  ! 
Oh  the  black   dividing    Sea  and    alien 
Plain  ! 
Youth  was  cheap — wherefore  we  sold  it, 
Gold  was  good — we  hoped  to  hold  it, 
And  to-day  we  know  the  fulness  of  our 
gain. 

Gray  dusk  behind  the  tamarisks — the  parrots 
fly  together — 
As  the  sun  is  sinking  slowly  over  Home  ; 


1 82  other  Verses 

May  set  in  with  a  dust-storm, — Pagett  vent 

down  with  the  sun. 
All  the  delights  of  the  season  tickled  him  one 

by  one. 
Ii7ipri7ms — ten     days'    "  liver  " — due    to     his 

drinking  beer ; 
Later,  a  dose  of  fever — slight,  but  he  called 

it  severe. 

Dysent'ry  touched  him  in  June,  after  the  67^^/^ 

Bursat — 
Lowered  his  portly  person — made  him  yearn 

to  depart. 
He  didn't  call  me  a  "  Brahmin,"  or  "  bloated," 

or  "  overpaid," 
But  seemed  to  think  it  a  wonder  that  any  one 

stayed. 

July  was  a  trifle  unhealthy, — Pagett  was  ill 

with  fear, 
'Called  it  the  "  Cholera  Morbus,"  hinted  that 

life  was  dear. 
He  babbled  of  "  Eastern  exile,"  and  mentioned 

his  home  with  tears ; 
But  I  hadn't  seen  ;;zy  children  for  close  upon 

seven  years. 

We  reached  a  hundred  and  twenty  once  in  the 

Court  at  noon, 
(I've    mentioned    Pagett  was    portly)   Pagett 

went  off  in  a  swoon. 


The  Song  of  the  Women     183 

That  was  an  end  to  the  business  ;  Pagett,  the 

perjured,  fled 
With  a  practical,  working  knowledge  of  "  Solar 

Myths  "  in  his  head. 

And  I  laughed   as  I   drove  from  the  station, 

but  the  mirth  died  out  on  my  lips 
As   I   thought   of    the   fools    like  Pagett  who 

write  of  their  "  Eastern  trips," 
And  the  sneers    of    the    traveled    idiots  who 

duly  misgovern  the  land, 
And  I  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  deliver  another 

one  into  my  hand. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOMEN 

{Lady  Diiffe7-in''s  Fundjor  medical  aid  to  the  Wo77ien  of 
India.) 

How  shall  we  know  the  worship  we  would  do 
her? 
The  walls  are  high,  and  she  is  very  far. 
How  shall  the  women's  message   reach  unto 
her 
Above  the  tumult  of  the  packed  bazar  ? 
Free  wind  of  March,  against  the   lattice 

blowing, 
Bear  thou  our  thanks,  lest  she  depart  un- 
knowing. 

Go  forth  across  the  fields  we  may  not  roam  in, 
Go  forth  beyond  the  trees  that  rim  the  city 


i86  Other  Verses 

Love  came  upon  us  suddenly 

And  loosed — an  idle  hour  to  kill — 

A  headless,  armless  armory 

That  smote  us  both  on  Jakko  Hill. 

Ah  Heaven  !  we  would  wait  and  wait 

Through  Time  and  to  Eternity  ! 
Ah  Heaven  !  we  could  conquer  Fate 

With  more  than  Godlike  constancy ! 
I  cut  the  date  upon  a  tree — 

Here  stand  the  clumsy  figures  still : — 
"10-7-85,  A.D." 

Damp  with  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill. 

What  came  of  high  resolve  and  great, 

And  until  Death  fidelity  ? 
Whose  horse  is  waiting  at  your  gate  ? 

Whose  ^rickshaw-vih&els  ride  over  me  ? 
No  Saint's,  I  swear  ;  and — let  me  see 

To-night  what  names  your  program  fill— 
We  drift  asunder  merrily. 

As  drifts  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill  ! 

L' ENVOI 

Princess,  behold  our  ancient  state 

Has  clean  departed  ;  and  we  see 
'Twas  idleness  we  took  for  Fate 

That  bound  light  bonds  on  you  and  me. 
Amen  !     Here  ends  the  comedy 

Where  it  began  in  all  good  will; 
Since  Love  and  Leave  together  flee 

As  driven  mist  on  Jakko  Hill  ! 


The  Plea  of  the  Simla  Dancers     187 


THE  PLEA  OF  THE  SIMLA  DANCERS 

Too  late,  alas  !  the  song 
To  remedy  the  wrong  ; — 
The  room  are  taken  from  us,  swept  and  garnished  foi 
their  fate. 

But  these  tear-besprinkled  pages 
Shall  attest  to  future  ages 
That  we  cried  against  the  crime  of  it — too  late,  alas  ! 
too  late ! 

"  What   have    we    ever   done    to   bear   this 
grudge  ? " 
Was  there  no  room  save  only  in  Benmore 
For  docket,  duftar,  and  for  office  drudge, 
That  you    usurp    our    smoothest    dancing 
floor? 
Must  babus  do  their  work  on  polished  teak  ? 

Are  ball-rooms  fittest  for  the  ink  you  spill? 
Was  there  no  other  cheaper  house  to  seek  ? 
You  might  have  left  them  all  at  Strawberry 
Hill. 

We  never  harmed  you  !     Innocent  our  guise, 

Dainty  our  shining  feet,  our  voices  low  ; 
And  we  revolved  to  divers  melodies, 

And  we  were  happy  but  a  year  ago. 
To-night,  the  moon  that  watched  our  light- 
some wiles — 

That  beamed    upon    us  through   the  deo- 
dars— 
Is  wan  with  gazing  on  official  files. 

And  desecrating  desks  disgust  the  stars. 


iQo  Other  Verses 

They  lied  about  the  Earth  beneath, 

The  Heavens  overhead, 
For  they  had  looked  too  often  on 

Black  rum  when  that  was  red. 

They  told  their  tales  of  wreck  and  wrong, 

Of  shame  and  lust  and  fraud, 
They  backed  their  toughest  statements  with 

The  Brimstone  of  the  Lord, 
And  crackling  oaths  went  to  and  fro 

Across  the  fist-banged  board. 

And  there  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
Who  carried  on  his  hairy  chest 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 

And  there  was  Jake  Without-the-Ears, 

And  Pamba  the  Malay, 
And  Carboy  Gin  the  Guinea  cook, 

And  Luz  from  Vigo  Bay, 
And  Honest  Jack  who  sold  them  slops 

And  harvested  their  pay. 

And  there  was  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  lean  Bostonian  he — 
Russ,  German,  English,  Halfbreed,  Finn, 

Yank,  Dane,  and  Portugee, 
At  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

They  rested  from  the  sea. 


Fisher's  Boarding- House     191 

Now  Anne  of  Austria  shared  their  drinks 

Collinga  knew  her  fame, 
From  Tarnau  in  Galicia 

To  Jaun  Bazar  she  came, 
To  eat  the  bread  of  infamy 

And  take  the  wage  of  shame. 

She  held  a  dozen  men  to  heel — 

Rich  spoil  of  war  was  hers, 

In  hose  and  gown  and  ring  and  chain, 

From  twenty  mariners, 
And,  by  Port  Law,  that  week,  men  called 

Her  Salem  Hardieker's. 

But  seamen  learnt — what  landsmen  know- 
That  neither  gifts  nor  gain 

Can  hold  a  winking  Light  o'  Love 
Or  Fancy's  flight  restrain, 

When  Anne  of  Austria  rolled  her  eyes 
On  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane. 

Since  Life  is  strife,  and  strife  means  knife, 

From  Howrah  to  the  Bay, 
And  he  may  die  before  the  dawn 

Who  liquored  out  the  day. 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

We  woo  while  yet  we  may. 

But  cold  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm. 
And  laughter  shook  the  chest  beneath 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 


194  Other  Verses 

"  She  was  sweet,"  thought  I,  "  last  season,  but 

'twere  surely  wild  unreason 
Such  tiny  hope  to  freeze  on  as  was  offered  by 

my  Star, 
When  she  whispered,  something  sadly  : — '  I — 

we  feel  your  going  badly  !  '" 
^^  A7id  you  let  the  chance  escape  you  ?  "    rapped 

the  rattling  tonga-bar. 
"  What  a  chauce  ajid  what  an  idiot  I  "  clicked 

the  vicious  tonga-bar. 


Heart  of  man — oh,  heart  of  putty  !  Had  I 
gone  by  Kakahutti, 

On  the  old  Hill-road  and  rutty,  I  had  'scaped 
that  fatal  car. 

But  his  fortune  each  must  bide  by,  so  I  watched 
the  milestones  slide  by, 

To  "  Vou  call  on  Her  to-?norrow  I  " — fugue 
with  cymbals  by  the  bar — 

"  You  must  call  on  Her  to-morrow  !  " — post- 
horn  gallop  by  the  bar. 

Yet    a   further   stage    my  goal  on — we  were 

whirling  down  to  Solon, 
With  a  double   lurch    and  roll  on,  best  foot 

foremost,  g-anz  und  gar — 
**  She  was  7'^rv  sweet,"  I  hinted.     ^*  If  a  kiss 

had  been  imprinted — ?  " 
" '  Would   ha^    saved    a  world    of  trouble !  " 

clashed  the  busy  tonga-bar. 
*^^Bee?i  accepted  or    rejected!'^    banged    and 

clanged  the  tonga-bar. 


"  As  the  Bell  Clinks  "       195 

Then  a  notion  wild  and  daring,  'spite  the  in- 
come tax's  paring, 

And  a  hasty  thought  of  sharing — less  than 
many  incomes  are. 

Made  me  put  a  question  private,  you  can 
guess  what  I  would  drive  at. 

"  Yoic  must  work  the  siun  to  prove  it,^'  clanked 
the  careless  tonga-bar. 

"  Simple  Rule  of  Ttvo  will  prove  it"  lilted  back 
the  tonga-bar. 

It  was  under  Khyraghaut  I  mused  : — "  Sup- 
pose the  maid  be  haughty — 

(There  are  lovers  rich — and  forty) — wait  some 
wealthy  Avatar  ? 

Answer,  monitor  untiring,  'twixt  the  ponies 
twain  perspiring  !  " 

"  Faint  heart  nei'er  wo7i  fair  lady^^^  creaked 
the  straining  tonga-bar. 

**  Can  I  tell  you  ere  you  ask  Her  ?  "  pounded 
slow  the  tonga-bar. 


Last,  the  Tara  Devi  turning  showed  the  lights 
of  Simla  burning, 

Lit  my  little  lazy  yearning  to  a  fiercer  flame 
by  far. 

As  below  the  Mall  we  jingled,  through  my 
very  heart  it  tingled — 

Did  the  iterated  order  of  the  threshing  tonga- 
bar — 

"  Try  your  luck — you  canU  do  better  ./"  twanged 
the  loosened  tonga-bar. 


198  other  Verses 

Sleep,  with  the  gray  langur  for  guard, 
Our  very  scornful  Dead, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
All  Earth  is  serva?il  to  us  two  1 

By  Docket,  Billetdoux,  and  File, 

By  Mountain,  Cliff,  and  Fir, 
By  Fan  and  Sword  and  Office-box, 

By  Corset,  Plume,  and  Spur, 
By  Riot,  Revel,  Waltz,  and  War, 

By  Women,  Work,  and  Bills, 
By  all  the  life  that  fizzes  in 

The  everlasting  Hills, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you. 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  iivo  ? 


CERTAIN  MAXIMS  OF  HAFIZ 

I. 

If  It  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  stalled  in  the 

packed  serai, 
Does  not  the  Young  Man  try  Its  temper  and 

pace  ere  he  buy  ? 
If  She  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  what  does  the 

Young  Man  say  ? 
"  Lo  !     She  is  pleasant  to  look  on,  give  Her  to 

me  to-day !  " 

II. 

Yea,  though  a  Kafir  die,  to  him  is  remitted 

Jehannum 
If  he  borrowed  in  life  from  a  native  at  sixty 

per  cent  per  annum. 


Certain  Maxims  of  Hafiz     199 

III. 

Blister  we  not  for  biirsatil     So  when  the  heart 

is  vext, 
The  pain  of  one  maiden's  refusal  is  drowned 

in  the  pain  of  the  next. 


IV. 

The  temper  of  chums,  the  love  of  your  wife, 

and  a  new  piano's  tune — 
Which  of  the  three  will  you  trust  at  the  end 

of  an  Indian  June  } 


Who  are  the  rulers  of  Ind — to  whom  shall  we 

bow  the  knee  ? 
Make  your  peace  with  the  women,  and  men 

will  make  you  L.  G. 

VI. 

Does  the  woodpecker  flit  round  the  young 
ferash  ?  Does  grass  clothe  a  new-built 
wall  ? 

Is  she  under  thirty,  the  woman  who  holds  a 
boy  in  her  thrall  1 

VII. 

If  She  grow  suddenly  gracious — reflect.     Is  it 

all  for  thee  ? 
The  black-buck  is  stalked  through  the  bullock, 
and  Man  through  jealousy. 


200  Other  Verses 


VIII. 


Seek  not  for  favor  of  women.     So  shall  you 

find  it  indeed. 
Does  not  the  boar  break  cover  just  when  you're 


lighting  a  weed  ? 


IX. 


If  He  play,  being    young  and  unskilful,   for 

shekels  of  silver  and  gold, 
Take  His  money,  my  son,  praising  Allah.    The 

kid  was  ordained  to  be  sold. 


X. 


With  a  "  weed  "  among   men  or  horses  verily 

this  is  the  best, 
That  you  work  him  in  office  or  dog-cart  lightly 

— but  give  him  no  rest. 


XI. 


Pleasant  the  snaffle   of  Courtship,  improving 

the  manners  and  carriage  ; 
But  the  colt  who  is  wise  will  abstain  from  the 

terrible  thorn-bit  of  Marriage. 


XII. 


As  the  thriftless  gold  of  the  babul,  so  is  the 

gold  that  we  spend 
On  a  Derby  Sweep,  or  our  neighbor's  wife,  or 

the  horse  that  we  buy  from  a  friend. 


Certain  Maxims  of  Hafiz     201 

XIII. 

The  ways  of  man  with  a  maid  be  strange,  yet 
simple  and  tame 

To  the  ways  of  a  man  with  a  horse,  when  sell- 
ing or  racing  that  same. 

XTV. 

In  public  Her  face  turneth  to  thee,and  pleasant 

Her  smile  when  ye  meet. 
It  is  ill.      The  cold  rocks  of  El-Gidar  smile 

thus  on  the  waves  at  their  feet. 
In  public  Her  face  is  averted,  with  anger  She 

nameth  thy  name. 
It  is  well.     Was  there  ever  a  loser  content  with 

the  loss  of  a  game  ? 

XV. 

If  She  have  spoken  a  word,  remember  thy  lips 
are  sealed, 

And  the  Brand  of  the  Dog  is  upon  him  by 
whom  is  the  secret  revealed. 

If  She  have  written  a  letter,  delay  not  an  in- 
stant, but  burn  it. 

Tear  it  in  pieces,  O  Fool,  and  the  wind  to  her 
mate  shall  return  it ! 

If  there  be  trouble  to  Herward,  and  a  lie  of 
the  blackest  can  clear. 

Lie,  while  thy  lips  can  move  or  a  man  is  alive 
to  hear. 

XVI. 

My  Son,  if  a  maiden  deny  thee  and  scufflingly 
bid  thee  give  o'er, 


202  Other  Verses 

Yet  lip  meets  with  lip  at  the  lastward — get 
out !     She  has  been  there  before. 

They  are  pecked  on  the  ear  and  the  chin  and 
the  nose  who  are  lacking  in  lore. 

XVII. 

If  we  fall  in  the  race,  though  we  win,  the  hoof- 
slide  is  scarred  on  the  course. 

Though  Allah  and  Earth  pardon  Sin,remaineth 
forever  Remorse. 

XVII. 

"  By  all  I  am  misunderstood  !  "  if  the  Matron 

shall  say,  or  the  Maid  : — 
*'  Alas  !   I  do  not  understand,"  my  son,  be  thou 

nowise  afraid. 
In  vain  in  the  sight  of  the  Bird  is  the  net  of 

the  Fowler  displayed. 

XIX. 

My  son,  if  I,  Hafiz,  thy  father,  take  hold  of 

thy  knees  in  my  pain, 
Demanding  thy  name  on  stamped  paper,  one 

day  or  one  hour — refrain. 
Are  the  links  of  thy  fetters  so  light  that  thou 

cravest  another  man's  chain  ? 


Grave  of  the  Hundred  Head     203 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED 
HEAD 

There's  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester, 

Who  weeps  for  her  only  son  ; 
There's  a  grave  on  the  Pabeng  River, 

A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shun, 
And  there's  Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 


A  Snider  squibbed  in  the  jungle, 
Somebody  laughed  and  fled, 

And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 
Picked  up  their  Subaltern  dead. 

With  a  big  blue  mark  in  his  forehead 
And  the  back  blown  out  of  his  head. 


Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Jemadar  Hira  Lai, 
Took  command  of  the  party, 

Twenty  rifles  in  all. 
Marched  them  down  to  the  river 

As  the  day  was  beginning  to  fall. 

Then  buried  the  boy  by  the  river, 

A  blanket  over  his  face — 
They  wept  for  their  dead  Lieutenant, 

The  men  of  an  alien  race — 
They  made  a  samddh  in  his  honor, 

A  mark  for  his  resting-place. 


204  Other  Verses 

For  they  swore  by  the  Holy  Water, 

They  swore  by  the  salt  they  ate, 
That   the   soul  of   Lieutenant  Eshmitt   Sahib 

Should  go  to  his  God  in  state  ; 
With  fifty  file  of  Burman 

To  open  him  Heaven's  gate. 


The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 
Marched  till  the  break  of  day. 

Till  they  came  to  the  rebel  village, 
The  village  of  Pabengmay — 

A /I'/iga/  covered  the  clearing, 
Calthrops  hampered  the  way. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Bidding  them  load  with  ball. 

Halted  a  dozen  rifles 
Under  the  village  wall ; 

Sent  out  a  fianking-party 
With  Jemadar  Hira  Lai. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 
Shouted  and  smote  and  slew, 

Turning  the  grinning yV;?^^/ 
On  to  the  howling  crew. 

The  Jemadar's  fianking-party 
Butchered  the  folk  who  flew. 


Long  was  the  morn  of  slaughterj 
Long  was  the  list  of  slain, 


Grave  of  the  Hundred  Head     205 

Five  score  heads  were  taken, 

Five  score  heads  and  twain  ; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  to  their  grave  again, 

Each  man  bearing  a  basket 

Red  as  his  palms  that  day, 
Red  as  the  blazing  village — 

The  village  of  Pabengmay. 
And  the  '•''  drip- drip-drip''  from  the  baskets 

Reddened  the  grass  by  the  way. 

They  made  a  pile  of  their  trophies 

High  as  a  tall  man's  chin, 
Head  upon  head  distorted, 

Set  in  a  sightless  grin, 
Anger  and  pain  and  terror 

Stamped  on  the  smoke-scorched  skin. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Put  the  head  of  the  Boh 
On  the  top  of  the  mound  of  triumph, 

The  head  of  his  son  below, 
With  the  sword  and  the  peacock-banner 

That  the  world  might  behold  and  know. 


Thus  the  samddh  was  perfect, 
Thus  was  the  lesson  plain 

Of  the  wrath  of  the  First  Shikaris — 
The  price  of  a  white  man  slain  ; 

And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 
Went  back  into  camp  again. 


2o6  Other  Verses 

Then  a  silence  came  to  the  river, 
A  hush  fell  fell  over  the  shore, 

And  Bohs  that  were  brave  departed, 
And  Sniders  squibbed  no  more  ; 

For  the  Burmans  said  that  a  kullaJi's  head 
Must  be  paid  for  with  heads  five  score. 

There's  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 
Who  weeps  for  her  only  son  ; 

There's  a  grave  on  the  Pabeng  River, 
A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shun, 

And  there's  Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 
Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 


THE  MOON  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

Beneath  the  deep  veranda's  shade, 

When  bats  begin  to  fly, 
I  sit  me  down  and  watch — alas  !  — 

Another  evening  die. 
Blood-red  behind  the  sere,  ferash 

She  rises  through  the  haze. 
Sainted  Diana  !  can  that  be 

The  moon  of  Other  Days } 

Ah  !  shade  of  little  Kitty  Smith, 

Sweet  Saint  of  Kensington  ! 
Say,  M^as  it  ever  thus  at  home 

The  Moon  of  August  shone, 
When  arm  in  arm  we  wandered  long 

Through  Putney's  evening  haze, 
And  Hammersmith  was  Heaven  beneath 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days  .? 


The  Overland  Mail  207 

But  Wandle's  stream  is  Sutlej  now, 

And  Putney's  evening  haze 
The  dust  that  half  a  hundred  kine 

Before  my  window  raise. 
Unkempt,  unclean,  athwart  the  mist 

The  seething  city  looms, 
In  place  of  Putney's  golden  gorse 

The  sickly  babul  blooms. 

Glare  down,  old  Hecate,  through  the  dust. 

And  bid  the  pie-dog  yell, 
Draw  from  the  drain  its  typhoid-germ, 

From  each  bazaar  its  smell ; 
Yea,  suck  the  fever  from  the  tank 

And  sap  my  strength  therewith  : 
Thank  Heaven,  you  show  a  smiling  face 

To  little  Kitty" Smith! 


THE  OVERLAND  MAIL 

{Foot-Service  to  the  Hills.) 

In  the  name  of  the  Empress  of  India,  make 

way, 

O  Lords  of  the  Jungle,  wherever  you  roam. 

The  woods  are  astir  at  the  close  of  the  day — ■ 

We  exiles  are  waiting  for  letters  from  Home. 

Let    the   robber   retreat — let    the    tiger    turn 

tail — 
In  the  Name  of   the    Empress,  the  Overland 
Mail ! 


2o8  other  Verses 

With  a  jingle  of  bells  as  the  dust  gathers  in, 

He  turns  to  the  foot-path  that  heads  up  the 

hill— 

The  bags  on  his  back  and  a  cloth  round  his 

chin, 

And,  tucked   in    his    waist-belt,    the    Post- 

Office  bill  :— 
**  Despatched  on  this  date,  as  received  by 
the  rail, 
Per  runner,  two  bags  of  the  Overland  Mail." 

Is  the  torrent  in  spate  ?     He  must  ford  it  or 

swim. 
Has  the  rain  wrecked  the  road  ?     He  must 

climb  by  the  cliff. 
Does   the  tempest    cry  "  Halt  "  }     What   are 

tempests  to  him  ? 
The  Service  admits  not  a  "but  "  or  an"  if." 
While  the  breath's  in  his  mouth,  he  must  bear 

without  fail, 
In  the  Name  of  the   Empress,  the   Overland 

Mail. 

From  aloe  to  rose,  from  rose-oak  to  fir, 

From  level  to  upland,  from  upland  to  crest, 
From  rice-field  to  rock-ridge,  from  rock-ridge 

to  spur, 
Fly    the    soft    sandaled    feet,     strains    the 

brawny  brown  chest. 
From    rail    to  ravine — to    the  peak  from  the 

vale — 
Up,  up  through  the  night  goes  the   Overland 

Mail. 


What  the  People  Said       209 

There's  a  speck  on  the  hillside,  a  dot  on  the 

road — 
A  jingle  of  bells  on  the  foot-path  below — 
There's    a    scuffle    above    in    the    monkey's 

abode — 
The    world    is    awake,  and   the  clouds  are 

aglow. 
For  the  great  Sun  himself  must  attend  to  the 

hail  :— 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland 

Mail !  " 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAID 

{June  21  St,  1887.) 

By  the  well,  where  the  bullocks  go 

Silent  and  blind  and  slow — 

By  the  field  where  the  young  corn  dies 

In  the  face  of  the  sultry  skies, 

They  have  heard,  as  the  dull  Earth  hears 

The  voice  of  the  wind  of  an  hour. 

The  sound  of  the  Great  Queen's  voice  :— 

"  My  God  hath  given  me  years. 

Hath  granted  dominion  and  power  : 

And  I  bid  you,  O  Land,  rejoice.'^ 

And  the  Plowman  settles  the  share 
More  deep  in  the  grudging  clod  ; 
For  he  saith  :  "  The  wheat  is  my  care, 
And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God. 
14 


210  Other  Verses 

*'  He  sent  the  Mahratta  spear 

As  He  sendeth  the  rain, 

And  the  Mlech,  in  the  fated  year, 

Broke  the  spear  in  twain, 

And  was  broken  in  turn.     Who  knows 

How  our  Lords  make  strife  ? 

It  is  good  that  the  young  wheat  grows, 

For  the  bread  is  Life." 

Then,  far  and  near,  as  the  twilight  drew, 

Hissed  up  to  the  scornful  dark 
Great  serpents,  blazing,  of  red  and  blue. 
That  rose  and  faded,  and  rose  anew. 

That  the  Land  might  wonder  and  mark. 
*' To-day  is  a  day  of  days,"  they  said, 
"  Make  merry,  O  People,  all !  " 
And  the  Plowman    listened    and    bowed  his 

head : — 
"To-day  and  to-morrow  God's  will,"  he  said, 
As  he  trimmed  the  lamps  on  the  wall. 

"  He  sendeth  us  years  that  are  good, 

As  He  sendeth  the  dearth. 

He  giveth  to  each  man  his  food, 

Or  Her  food  to  the  Earth. 

Our  Kings  and  our  Queens  are  afar — 

On  their  peoples  be  peace — 

God  bringeth  the  rain  to  the  Bar, 

That  our  cattle  increase. " 

And  the  Plowman  settled  the  share 
More  deep  in  the  sun-dried  clod  : — 


The  Undertaker's  Horse     211 

*'  Mogul,  Mahratta,  and  Mlech  from  the  North, 
And  White  Queen  over  the  Seas — 
God  raiseth  them  up  and  driveth  them  forth 
As  the    dust    of    the  plowshare  fiies  in    the 

breeze  ; 
But  the  wheat  and  the  cattle  are   all  my  care, 
And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God. " 


THE    UNDERTAKER'S    HORSE 

"  To-TSCHIN-SHU    is  condemned    to    dsath.      How 
can  he  drink  tea  with  the  Executioner  ?  " — Japanese 

Proverb. 

The  eldest  son  bestrides  him, 

And  the  pretty  daughter  rides  him, 

And  I  meet  him  oft  o'  mornings  on  the  Course  % 

And  there  wakens  in  my  bosom 

An  emotion  chill  and  gruesome 

As  I  canter  past  the  Undertaker's  Horse, 

Neither  shies  he  nor  is  restive, 
But  a  hideously  suggestive 
Trot,  professional  and  placid,  he  affects; 
And  the  cadence  of  his  hoof-beats 
To  my  mind,  this  grim  reproof  beats : — 
"  Mend  your  pace,   my  friend,   I'm  coming. 
Who's  the  next  ?  " 

Ah  !  stud-bred  of  ill-omen, 

I  have  watched  the  strongest  go — men 


212  Other  Verses 

Of  pith  and  might  and  muscle — at  your  heels, 
Down  the  plantain-bordered  highway, 
(Heaven  send  it  ne'er  be  my  way!) 
In  a  lacquered  box  and  jetty  upon  wheels. 

Answer,  somber  beast  and  dreary, 
Where  is  Brown,  the  young,  the  cheery, 
Smith,  the  pride  of  all  his  friends  and  half  the 

Force  ? 
You  were  at  that  last  dread  dak 
We  must  cover  at  a  walk. 
Bring  them  back  to  me,  O  Undertaker's  Horse  ) 

With  your  mane  unhogged  and  flowing, 

And  your  curious  way  of  going, 

And  that  business-like  black  crimping  of  your 

tail. 
E'en  with  Beauty  on  your  back,  Sir, 
Pacing  as  a  lady's  hack,  Sir, 
What  wonder  when  I  meet  you  I  turn  pale  ? 

It  may  be  you  wait  your  time,  Beast, 

Till  I  write  my  last  bad  rhyme,  Beast, 

Quit  the  sunlight,  cut  the  rhyming,  drop  the 

glass. 
Follow  after  with  the  others, 
Where  some  dusky  heathen  smothers 
Us  with  marigolds  in  lieu  of  English  grass. 

Or,  perchance,  in  years  to  follow, 

I  shall  watch  your  plump  sides  hollow, 

See  Carnifex  (gone  lame)  become  a  corse, 

See  old  age  at  last  o'erpower  you. 

And  the  Station  Pack  devour  you, 

I  shall  chuckle  then,  O  Undertaker's  Horse  ! 


The  Fall  of  Jock  Gillespie     213 

But  to  insult,  gibe,  and  quest,  I've 

Still  the  hideously  suggestive 

Trot  that  hammers  out  the  grim  and  warning 

text, 
And  I  hear  it  hard  behind  me, 
In  what  place  soe'er  I  find  me  : — 
"  Sure  to  catch  you  sooner  or  later.     Who's 

the  next  ?  " 


THE  FALL  OF  JOCK  GILLESPIE 

This  fell  when  dinner-time  was  done — 
'Twixt  the  first  an'  the  second  rub — 

That  oor  mon  Jock  cam'  hame  again 
To  his  rooms  ahint  the  Club. 

An'  syne  he  laughed,  an'  syne  he  sang, 

An'  syne  we  thocht  him  fou, 
An'  syne  he  trumped  his  partner's  trick, 

An'  garred  his  partner  rue. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  elder  mon. 

That  held  the  spade  its  Ace — 
"God  save  the  lad  !     Whence  comes  the  lick 

That  wimples  on  his  face  ?  " 

An'  Jock  he  sniggered,  an'  Jock  he  smiled, 
An'  ower  the  card-brim  wunk  : — 

"  I'm  a'  too  fresh  fra'  the  stirrup-peg, 
May  be  that  I  am  drunk." 


214  Other  Verses 

**  There's  whusky  brewed  in  Galashiels, 

An'  L.  L.  L.  forbye  ; 
But  never  liquor  lit  the  low 

That  keeks  fra'  oot  your  eye. 

**  There's  a  thrid   o'  hair  on  your  dress-coat 
breast, 

Aboon  the  heart  a  wee  ?" 
"  Oh  !  that  is  fra'  the  lang-haired  Skye 

That  slobbers  ower  me." 

"Oh!  lang-haired  Skyes  are  lovin'  beasts, 

An'  terrier  dogs  are  fair, 
But  never  yet  was  terrier  born 

Wi'  ell-lang  gowden  hair ! 

"There's  a  smirch  o'  pouther  on  your  breast, 

Below  the  left  lappel  ?  " 
"Oh  !  that  is  fra'  my  auld  cigar, 

Whenas  the  stump-end  fell." 

'*  Mon  Jock,  ye  smoke  the  Trichi  coarse, 

For  ye  are  short  o'  cash, 
An'  best  Havanas  couldna  leave 

Sae  white  an'  pure  an  ash. 

"  This  nicht  ye  stopped  a  story  braid, 

An'  stopped  it  wi'  a  curse — 
Last  nicht  ye  told  that  tale  yoursel, 

An'  capped  it  wi'  a  worse  ! 

"  Oh  !  we're  no  fou  !     Oh  !  we're  no  fou  ! 

But  plainly  we  can  ken 
Ye're  fallin',  fallin',  fra'  the  band 

O'  cantie  single  men  !  " 


Arithmetic  on  the  Frontier     215 

An'  it  fell  when  sirris-shaws  were  sere, 
An'  the  nichts  were  lang  and  mirk, 

In  braw  new  breeks,  wi'  a  gowden  ring, 
Oor  Jockie  gaed  to  the  Kirk. 


ARITHMETIC  ON  THE  FRONTIER 

A  GREAT  and  glorious  thing  it  is 
To  learn,  for  seven  years  or  so, 

The  Lord  knows  what  of  that  and  this. 
Ere  reckoned  lit  to  face  the  foe — 

The  flying  bullet  down  the  Pass, 

That  whistles  clear  :  "  All  flesh  is  grass.'* 

Three  hundred  pounds  per  annum  spent 
On  making  brain  and  body  meeter 

For  all  the  murderous  intent 

Comprised  in  "  villanous  saltpeter!" 

And  after — ask  the  Yusufzaies 

What  comes  of  all  our  'ologies. 

A  scrimmage  in  a  Border  Station — - 
A  canter  down  some  dark  defile — 

Two  thousand  pounds  of  education 
Drops  to  a  ten-rupee  jeza// — 

The  Crammer's  boast,  the  Squadron's  pride, 

Shot  like  a  rabbit  in  a  ride  ! 

No  proposition  Euclid  wrote. 

No  formulae  the  text-books  know, 

Will  turn  the  bullet  from  your  coat, 
Or  ward  the  tulwar's  downward  blow. 


2i6  Other  Verses 

Strike  hard  who   cares — shoot    straight   who 

can — 
The  odds  are  on  the  cheaper  man. 

One  sword-knot  stolen  from  the  camp 
Will  pay  for  all  the  school  expenses 

Of  any  Kurrum  Valley  scamp 

Who  knows  no  word  or  moods  and  tenses, 

But,  being  blessed  with  perfect  sight, 

Picks  off  our  messmates  left  and  right. 

With  home-bred  hordes  the  hill  sides  teem, 
The  troop-ships  bring  us  one  by  one, 

At  vast  expense  of  time  and  steam, 
To  slay  Afridis  where  they  run. 

The  "  captives  of  our  bow  and  spear  " 

Are  cheap — alas  !  as  we  are  dear. 


ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS 

[Lord  Dtiffe7'in  to  Lord  Lansdowfie^ 

So  here's  your  Empire.     No  more  wine,  then  ? 

Good. 
We'll  clear  the  Aides  and  khitmatgars  away. 
(You'll  know  that   fat  old    fellow  with    the 

knife — 
He  keeps  the  Name  Book,  talks  in  English  too, 
And  almost  thinks  himself  the  Government.) 
O  Youth,  Youth,  Youth !     Forgive  me,  you're 

so  young. 


One  Viceroy  Resigns        217 

Forty  from  sixty — twenty  years  of  work 
And  power  to  back  the  working.     Ajy  de  mil 
You  want  to  know,  you  want  to  see,  to  touch, 
And,  by  your  lights,  to  act.      It's  natural. 
I  wonder  can  1  help  you.      Let  me  try. 
You    saw — what  did    you    see   from   Bombay 

east  ? 
Enough  to  frighten  any  one  but  me  ? 
.Neat  that !     It  frightened  Me  in  Eighty-Four  \ 
You  shouldn't  take  a  man  from  Canada 
And  bid  him  smoke  in  powder-magazines  ; 
Nor  with  a  Reputation  such  as — Bah  ! 
That  ghost  has  haunted  me  for  twenty  years, 
j\Iy  Reputation  now  full  blown — Your  fault — 
Yours,  with  your  stories  of  the  strife  at  Home^ 
Who's  up,  who's  down,  who  leads  and  who  is 

led— 
One  reads  so  much,  one  hears  so  little  here. 
Well,  now's  your  turn  of  exile.      I  go  back 
To  Rome  and  leisure.      All  roads  lead  to  Rome, 
Or  books — the  refuge  of  the  destitute. 
When  you  .  .  .  that  brings  me  back  to  India, 

See  ! 
Start  clear.     I  couldn't.     Egypt  served  ray 

turn. 
You'll  never  plumb  the  Oriental  mind, 
And  if  you  did  it  isn't  worth  the  toil. 
Think  of  a  sleek  French  priest  in  Canada; 
Divide  by  twenty  half-breeds.      Multiply 
By  twice  the   Sphinx's  silence.     There's  your 

East, 
And  you're  as  wise  as  ever.     So  am  I. 

Accept  on  trust  and  work  in  darkness,  strike 


2i8  other  Verses 

At  venture,  stumble  forward,  make  your  mark, 
(It's  chalk  on  granite),  then  thank  God  no  flame 
Leaps  from  the  rock  to  shrivel  mark  and  man. 
I'm  clear — my  mark  is  made.     Three  months 

of  drought 
Had   ruined    much.      It    rained    and   washed 

away 
The  specks  that  might  have  gathered   on  my 

Name. 
I  took  a  country  twice  the  size  of  France, 
And  shuttered  up  one  doorway  in  the  North. 
I  stand  by  those.     You'll  find   that  both   will 

I   pledged   my   Name  on  both — they're  yours 

to-night. 
Hold  to  them — they  hold  fame  enough  for  tw^o. 
I'm  old,  but  I  shall  live  till  Burma  pays. 
Men   there — not  German  traders — Cr-sthw-te 

knows — 
You'll  find  it  in  my  papers.     For  the  North 
Guns  always — quietly — but  always  guns. 
You've  seen  your  Council  ?     Yes,   they'll   try 

to  rule. 
And  prize  their  Reputations.  Have  you  met 
A  grim  lay-reader  with  a  taste  for  coins. 
And  faith  in  Sin  most  men  withhold  from  God  1 
He's  gone  to  England.  R-p-n  knew  his  grip 
And  kicked.  A  Council  always  has  its  H-pes. 
They  look  for  nothing    from   the   West  but 

Death 
Or  Bath  or  Bournemouth.     Here's  their  ground 

They  fight 
Until  the  middle  classes  take  them  back, 


One  Viceroy  Resigns        219 

One  of  ten  millions  plus  a  C.  S.  I. 

Or  drop  in  harness.      Legion  of  the  Lost  ? 

Not  altogether — earnest,  narrow  men, 

But  chiefly  earnest,  and  they'll  do  your  work, 

And  end  by  writing  letters  to  the  Times. 

(Shall  /  write  letters,  answering  H-nt-r — fawn 

With  R-p-n  on  the  Yorkshire  grocers  ?  Ugh  !) 

They  have  their  Reputations.     Look  to  one — 

I  work  with  him — the  smallest  of  them  all, 

White-haired,  red-faced,  who  sat  the  plunging 

horse 
Out  in  the  garden.     He's  your  right-hand  man, 
And  dreams  of  tilting  W-ls-y  from  the  throne, 
But  while  he  dreams  gives  work  we  cannot 

buy; 
He  has  his  Reputation — wants  the  Lords 
By  way  of  Frontier  Roads.    Meantime,  I  think, 
He  values  very  much  the  hand  that  falls 
Upon  his  shoulder  at  the  Council  table — 
Hates  cats  and  knows  his  business  :  which  is 

yours. 
Your  business  !    Twice   a  hundred   million 

souls. 
Your  business  !     I  could  tell  you  what  I  did 
Some  nights  of  Eighty-Five,  at  Simla,  worth 
A  Kingdom's  ransom.    When  a  big  ship  drives, 
God  knows  to  what  new   reef  the  man  at  the 

wheel 
Prays  with  the  passengers.     They  lose  their 

lives, 
Or  rescued  go  their  way  ;  but  he's  no  man 
To  take  his  trick   at  the  wheel   again — that's 

worse 


220  Other  Verses 

Than    drowning.     Well,   a    galled    Mashobra 

nnule 
(You'll  see  Mashobra;  passed  me  on  the  Mall, 
And  I  was — some  fool's  wife  had  ducked  and 

bowed 
To  show  the  others  I  would  stop  and  speak. 
Then    the     mule    fell — three    galls,    a    hand- 
breadth  each, 
Behind  the  withers.     Mrs.  Whatsisname 
Leers    at  the  mule   and  me  by  turns,  thweet 

thoul ! 
"How    could    they   make  him   carry   such    a 

load  !  " 
I  saw — it  isn't  often  I  dream  dreams — 
More  than  the  mule   that  minute — smoke  and 

flame 
From  Simla  to  the  haze  below.     That's  weak. 
You're  younger.      You'll  dream  dreams  before 

you've  done. 
You've    youth,  that's   one — good  workman — 

that  means  two 
Fair  chances  in  your  favor.     Fate's  the  third. 
I     know    what    1     did.       Do    you    ask    me, 

'•  Preach  "  ? 
I  answer  by  my  past  or  else  go  back 
To  platitudes  of  rule — or  take  you  thus 
In    confidence     and    say: — "You    know    the 

trick  : 
You've  governed  Canada.     You  know.      You 

know  !  " 
And    all    the   while    comm.end  you  to   Fate's 

hand 
(Here  at  the  top  one  loses  sight  o'  God), 


One  Viceroy  Resigns        221 

Commend  you,  then,  to  something  more  than 

you — 
The  Other  People's  blunders  and  .  .  .  that's 

all. 
I'd  agonize  to  serve  you  if  I  could. 
It's  incommunicable,  like  the  cast 
That  drops  the  tackle  with  the  gut  adry. 
Too   much — too    little — there's   your    salmon 

lost ! 
And  so  I  tell  you  nothing — wish  you  luck, 
And  wonder — how  I  wonder  ! — for  your  sake 
And    triumph    for  my  own.      You're   young, 

you're  young. 
You  hold  to  half  a  hundred  Shibboleths. 
I'm  old.     I  followed  Power  to  the  last, 
Gave  her  my  best,  and  Power  followed  Me. 
It's  worth  it — on  my  soul  I'm  speaking  plain, 
Here  by  the  claret  glasses  ! — worth  it  all, 
I  gave — no  matter  what  I  gave — I  win. 
I  know  I  win.     Mine's  work,  good   work  that 

live  ! 
A  country  twice  the  size  of  France — the  North 
Safeguarded.      That's    my   record ;    sink    the 

rest 
And   better    if    you    can.     The    Rains  may 

serve. 
Rupees  may  rise — three  pence  will  give  you 

Fame — 
It's  rash  to  hope  for  sixpence — If  they  rise 
Get  guns,  more  guns,  and  lift  the  salt-tax. 

Oht 
I    told   you   what    the    Congress    meant   or 

thought  ? 


222  Other  Verses 

I'll  answer  nothing.     Half  a  year  will  prove 
The   full   extent  of  time   and   thought  you'll 

spare 
To  Congress.     Ask  a  Lady.  Doctor  once 
How  little  Begums  see  the  light — deduce 
Thence  how  the  True  Reformer's  child  is  born. 
It's  interesting,  curious  .   .  .   and  vile. 
I  told  the  Turk  he  was  a  gentleman. 
I  told  the  Russian  that  his  Tartar  veins 
Bled  pure  Parisian  ichor;  and  he  purred. 
The  Congress  doesn't  purr.      I  think  it  swears. 
You're   young — you'll    swear   too   ere  you've 

reached  the  end. 
The  end  !  God  help  you,  if  there  be  a  God. 
(There  must  be  one  to  startle  Gl-dst-ne's  soul 
In  that  new  land  where  all  the  wires  are  cut, 
And  Cr-ss  snores  anthems  on  the  asphodel.) 
God  help  you  !  And  I'd  help  you  if  I  could, 
But  that's  beyond  me.     Yes,  your  speech  was 

crude. 
Sound  claret  after  olives — yours  and  mine ; 
But  Medoc  slips  into  vin  ordinaire. 
(I'll  drink  my  first  at  Genoa  to  your  health.) 
Raise  it  to    Hock.     You'll    never   catch    my 

style. 
And,  after  all,  the  middle-classes  grip 
The  middle-class — for  Brompton  talk    Earl's 

Court. 
Perhaps   you're   right.     I'll    see   you    in   the 

Times — 
A  quarter-column  of  eye-searing  print, 
A  leader  once  a  quarter — then  a  war ; 
A  Strand  abellow  through  the  fog :  "  Defeat !  '* 


One  Viceroy  Resigns        223 

"  'Orrible  slaughter  !  "     While  you  lie  awake 
And   wonder.      Oh,  you'll  wonder  ere  you^re 

free  ! 
I  wonder  now.     The  four  years  slide  away 
So  fast,  so  fast,  and  leave  me  here  alone. 
R_y,  C-lv-n,  L— 1,  R-b-rts,  B-ck,  the  rest, 
Princes  and  Powers  of  Darkness,  troops  and 

trains, 
(I  aumot  sleep  in  trains),  land  piled  on  land, 
Whitewash  and  weariness,  red  rockets,  dust. 
White   snows  that  mocked  me,  palaces — with 

draughts, 
And  W-stl-nd  with  the  drafts  he  couldn't  pay, 
Poor  W-ls-n  reading  his  obituary 
Before  he  died,  and  H-pe,  the  man  with  boners, 
And  A-tc-hs-n  a  dripping  mackintosh 
At  council  in  the  Rains,  his  grating  "  Sirrr  " 
Half  drowned  by  H-nt-r's  silky  ; — "  Bat  my 

lahd." 
Hunterian  always  :  M-rsh-1  spinning  plates 
Or   standing  on    his    head ;   the  Rent    Bill's 

roar, 
A  hundred  thousand  speeches,  much  red  cloth, 
And  Smiths  thrice  happy  if  I  call  them  Jones, 
(I  can't  remember  half  their  names)  or  reined 
My  pony  on  the  Mall  to  greet  their  wives. 
More  trains,  more  troops,  more  dust,  and  then 

all's  done. 
Four  years,  and  I  forget.     If  I  forget 
How  will  they  bear  me  in  their  minds  ?     The 

North 
Safeguarded — nearly  (R-b-rts  knows  the  rest), 
A  country  twice  the  size  of  France  annexed. 


224  Other  Verses 

That  stays  at  least.     The  rest  may  pass — may 

pass — 
Your  heritage — and  I  can  teach  you  nought. 
"High  trust,"  "vast  honor,"  "  interests  twice 

as  vast," 
*'Due  reverence  to  your  Council" — keep  to 

those. 
I  envy  you  the  twenty  years  youVe  gained, 
But   not   the   five   to    follow.     What's    that! 

One? 
Two! — surely  not  so  late.    Good-night.    Don't 

dream. 


THE  BETROTHED 

**  You  must  choose  between  me  and  your  cigar." 

Open  the  old  cigar-box,  get  me  a  Cuba  stout, 
For  things  are  running  crossways,  and  Maggie 
and  I  are  out. 

We  quarreled  about  Havanas — we  fought  o'er 

a  good  cheroot. 
And  I  know  she  is  exacting,  and  she  says  I 

am  a  brute. 

Open    the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  a 

space ; 
In  the  soft  blue  veil  of  the  vapor,  musing  on 

Maggie's  face. 


The  Betrothed  225 

Maggie  is  pretty  to  look  at — Maggie's  a  loving 

lass, 
But  the   prettiest   cheeks  must   wrinkle,  the 

truest  of  loves  must  pass. 

There's  peace  in  a  Laranaga,  there's  calm  in 

a  Henry  Clay, 
But  the  best  cigar  in  an  hour  is  finished  and 

thrown  away — 

Thrown  away  for  another  as  perfect  and  ripe 

and  brown — 
But  I  could   not   throw  away  Maggie  for  fear 

o'  the  talk  o'  the  town  ! 

Maggie,  my  wife  at  fifty — gray  and  dour  and 

old— 
With  never  another  Maggie   to  purchase  for 

love  or  gold  ! 

And  the  light  of  Days  that  have  Been  the  dark 

of  the  Days  that  Are, 
And  Love's  torch  stinking  and  stale,  like  the 

butt  of  a  dead  cigar — 

The   butt  of  a  dead   cigar  you  are  bound  to 

keep  in  your  pocket — 
With  never  a  new  one  to  light  tho'  it's  charred 

and  black  to  the  socket. 

Open  the    old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  a 

while — 
Here    is   a   mild   Manilla — there   is  a  wifely 

smile. 

IS 


226  Other  Verses 

Which  is  tbe  better  portion — bondage  bought 

with  a  ring, 
Or  a  harem  of  dusky  beauties  fifty  tied  in  a 

string  ? 

Counselors    cunning    and   silent — comforters 

true  and  tried, 
And  never  a  one  of  the  fifty  to  sneer  at  a  rival 

bride. 

Thought  in  the  early  morning,  solace  in  time 

of  woes, 
Peace  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight,  balm  ere 

my  eyelids  close. 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me,  asking  nought  in 

return, 
With  only  a  Suttee's  passion — to  do  their  duty 

and  burn. 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me.     When  they  are 

spent  and  dead, 
Five  times  other  fifties  shall  be  my  servants 

instead. 

The  furrows  of  far-off  Java,  the  isles  of  the 

Spanish  Main, 
When  they  hear  my  harem  is  empty,  will  send 

me  my  brides  again. 

I  will  take  no  heed  to  their  raiment,  nor  food 

for  their  mouths  withal, 
So  long  as  the  gulls  are  nesting,  so  long  as  the 

showers  fall. 


The  Betrothed  227 

I  will  scent  'em  with  best  vanilla,  with  tea  will 

I  temper  their  hides, 
And  the  Moor  and  the   Mormon  shall  envy 

who  read  of  the  tale  of  my  brides. 

For  Maggie  has  written  a  letter  to  give  me  my 

choice  between 
The  wee  little  whimpering  Love  and  the  great 

god  Nick  o'  Teen. 

And  I  have  been   servant  of  Love  for  barely 

a  twelvemonth  clear, 
But  I  have  been  Priest  of  Partagas  a  matter 

of  seven  year ; 

And  the  gloom  of  my  bachelor  days  is  flecked 

with  the  cheery  light 
Of  stumps  that   I  burned   to  Friendship  and 

Pleasure  and  Work  and  Fight. 

And  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  future  that  Maggie 

and  I  must  prove, 
But  the  only  light  on  the  marshes  is  the  Will- 

o'-the  Wisp  of  Love. 

Will  it  see   me  safe  through  my  journey,  or 

leave  me  bogged  in  the  mire  ? 
Since  a  puff   of  tobacco   can  cloud  it,  shall  I 

follow  the  fitful  fire  ? 

Open    the    old    cigar-box — let    me    consider 

anew — 
Old  friends,  and  who  is  Maggie  that  I  should 

abandon  you  ? 


228  Other  Verses 

A  million  surplus  Maggies  are  willing  to  beat 

the  yoke ; 
And  a  woman  is  only  a  woman,  but  a  good 

cigar  is  a  Smoke. 

Light  me  another  Cuba ;  I  hold  to  my  first- 
sworn  vows, 

If  Maggie  will  have  no  rival,  1^11  have  no 
Maggie  for  spouse ! 


A   TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES 

Where  the  sober-colored  cultivator  smiles 

On  his  hyles  ; 
Where  the  cholera,  the  cyclone,  and  the  crow 

Come  and  go ; 
Where  the  merchant  deals  in  indigo  and  tea, 

Hides  and^/^// 
Where  the  Babu  drops  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints ; 
Stands  a   City — Charnock  chose  it — packed 
away 

Near  a  Bay — 
By  the  sewage  rendered  fetid,  by  the  sewer 

Made  impure, 
By   the    Sunderbunds    unwholesome,  by   the 
swamp 

Moist  and  damp ; 
And  the  City  and  the  Viceroy,  -s  we  see, 

Don't  agree. 
Once,  two  hundred  years  ago,  the  trader  came 

Meek  and  tame. 


A  Tale  of  Two  Cities       229 

Where  his  timid    foot  first   hahed,  there  he 
stayed, 

Till  mere  trade 
Grew  to  Empire,  and  he  sent  his  armies  forth 

South  and  North 
Till  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  his  own. 
Thus  the  midday  halt  of  Charnock — more's 
the  pity  ! 

Grew  a  City. 
As  the  fungus  spouts  chaotic  from  its  bed, 

So  it  spread — 
Chance-directed,     chance-erected,    laid    and 
built 

On  the  silt- 
Palace,  byre,  hovel — poverty  and  pride — 

Side  by  side  ; 
And,  above  the  packed  and  pestilential  town, 

Death  looked  down. 

But  the  Rulers  in  that  City  by  the  Sea 

Turned  to  flee — 
Fled,  with  each  returning  spring-tide  from  its 
ills 

To  the  Hills. 
From  the  clammy  fogs  of  morning,  from  the 
blaze 

Of  the  days, 
From  the  sickness  of  the  noontide,  from  the 
heat, 

Beat  retreat ; 
For  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 
Was  their  own. 


230  other  Verses 

But  the  Merchant   risked    the    perils  of  the 
Plain 

For  his  gain. 

Now  the    resting-place    of  Charnock,  'neath 
the  palms, 

Asks  an  alms. 
And  the  burden  of  its  lamentation  is, 

Briefly,  this  :  — 
*'  Because,  for    certain   months,  we  boil  and 
stew, 

So  should  you. 
Cast  the  Viceroy  and  his  Council,  to  perspire 

In  our  fire  !  " 
And  for  answer  to  the  argument,  in  vain 

We  explain 
That    an    amateur    Saint    Lawrence    cannot 
fry!  — 

''All  must  fry!" 
That  the  Merchant  risks  the  perils  of  the  Plain 

For  his  gain. 
Nor  can  Rulers  rule  a  house  that  men  grow 
rich  in, 

From  its  kitchen. 

Let  the  Babu  drop  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints  ; 
And    mature — consistent    soul — his  plan  for 
stealing 

To  Darjeeling : 
Let  the  Merchant  seek,  who  makes  his  silver 
pile, 

England's  isle ; 


Griff  en's  Debt  231 

Let     the    City    Charnock    pitched    on — evil 
day!  — 

Go  Her  way. 
Though  the  argosies  of  Asia  at  Her  doors 

Heap  their  stores, 
Though  Her  enterprise  and  energy  secure 

Income  sure. 
Though      ''  out-station      orders      punctually 
obeyed  " 

Swell  Her  trade — 
Stilly  for  rule,  administration,  and  the  rest, 

Simla's  best. 


GRIFFEN'S  DEBT 

Imprimis  he  was  "  broke."     Thereafter  left 
His  regiment,  and,  later,  took  to  drink  ; 
Then,  having  lost  the  balance  of  his  friends, 
"  Went  Fantee  " — joined  the   people  of  the 

land, 
Turned    three    parts    Mussulman     and    one 

Hindu, 
And  lived  among  the  Gauri  villagers, 
Who  gave  him  shelter  and  a  wife  or  twain, 
And  boasted  that  a  thorough,  full-blood  sahil) 
Had  come  among  them.      Thus  he   spent  his 

time, 
Deeply  indebted  to  the  village  shrof, 
(Who  never  asked  for  payment)  always  drunk, 
Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels  ; 
Forgetting  that  he  was  an  Englishman. 


232  Other  Verses 

You  know  they  dammed   the    Gauri  with   a 

dam, 
And  all  the  good  contractors   scamped  their 

work, 
And  all  the  bad  material  at  hand 
Was    used    to    dam    the     Gauri — which    was 

cheap, 
And,     therefore,    proper.       Then    the    Gauri 

burst, 
And  several  hundred  thousand  cubic  tons 
Of  water  dropped  into  the  valley, y7^, 
And  drowned  some  five  and  twenty  villagers, 
And  did  a  lakh  or  two  of  detriment 
To  crops  and  cattle.      When   the   flood  went 

down 
We  found  him    dead,   beneath    an  old   dead 

horse. 
Full  six  miles  down  the  valley.     So  we  said 
He  was  a  victim  to  the  Demon  Drink, 
And  moralized  upon  him  for  a  week, 
And  then  forgot  him.      Which  was   natural. 

But,  in  the  valley  of  the  Gauri,  men 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  big  new  dam 
Relate  a  foolish  legend  of  the  flood. 
Accounting  for  the  little  loss  of  life 
(Only  those  five  and  twenty  villagers) 
In  this  wise  :  On  the  evening  of  the  flood, 

They  heard  the  groaning  of  the  rotten  dam. 
And  voices  of  the  Mountain  Devils.     Then 
An  incarnation  of  the  local  God. 
Mounted  upon  a  monster-neighing  horse, 


Griffen's  Debt  233 

And  flourishing  a  flail-like  whip,  came  down, 

Breathing  ambrosia,  to  the  villages, 

And  fell  upon  the  simple  villagers 

With  yells  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  throat, 

And  blows  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  hand, 

And  smote  them  with  the  flail-like   whip,  and 

drove 
Them  clamorous  with  terror  up  the  hill, 
And    scattered,    with    the     monster-neighing 

steed, 
Their  crazy  cottages  about  their  ears. 
And  generally  cleared  those   villages. 
Then  came  the  water,  and  the  local  God, 
Breathing  ambrosia,  flourishing  his  whip. 
And  mounted  on  his  monster-neighing  steed, 
Went  down  the  valley  with  the  flying  trees 
And    residue     of     homesteads,     while    they 

watched 
Safe   on   the     mountain-side  those    wondrous 

things, 
And  knew  that  they  were  much  beloved  of 

Heaven. 

Wherefore,    and    when  the    dam    was   newly 

built, 
They  raised  a  temple  to  the  local  God, 
And  burned  all  manner  of  unsavory  things 
Upon  his  altar,  and  created  priests, 
And  blew  into  a  conch,  and  banged  a  bell, 
And  told  the  story  of  the  Gauri  flood 
With  circumstance  and  much  embroidery. 

So  he  the  whiskified  Objectionable, 
Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels, 


234  Other  Verses 

Became  the  tutelary  Diety 

Of  all  the  Guari  valley  villages  ; 

And  may  in  time  become  a  Solar  Myth. 


IN  SPRINGTIME 

My  garden  blazes  brightly  with  the  rosebush 
and  the  peach, 
And  the  k'dil  sings  above  it,  in  the  sij-is  by 
the  well, 
From  the  creeper-covered    trellis  comes  the 
squirrel's  chattering  speech, 
And     the     blue-jay    screams    and    flutters 
w^here  the  cheery  sat-bhai^\^€[\. 
But  the  rose  has  lost  its  fragrance,  and   the 
koiVs  note  is  strange; 
I  am  sick  of  endless  sunshine,  sick  of  blos- 
som-burdened bough. 
Give  me  back  the  leafless   woodlands  where 
the  winds  of  Springtime  range — 
Give  me  back  one  day  in  England,  for  it's 
Spring  in  England  now  ! 
Through  the  pines    the  gusts  are   blooming, 
o'er  the  brown  fields  blowing  chill, 
From      the     furrow      of     the     plowshare 
streams  the  fragrance  of  the  loam, 
And  the  hawk  nests  on  the  cliff-side  and  the 
jackdaw  in  the  hill. 
And  my  heart  is  back  in  England  mid  the 
sights  and  sounds  of  Home. 
But  the  garland  of  the  sacrifice  this  wealth  of 
.   rose  and  peach  is  ; 


Two  Months  235 

Ah !  koil,    little   kbil^    singing   on  the  siris 

bough, 
In  my  ears   the  knell  of  exile  your  ceasless 

bell-like  speech  is — 
Can  you  tell  me  aught    of    England  or  of 

Spring  in  England  now  ? 


TWO   MONTHS 

IN    JUNE. 

No  hope,  no  change  !     The  clouds  have  shut 
us  in 
And    through    the    cloud    the    sullen    Sun 

strikes  down 
Full  on  the  bosom  of  the  tortured  Town. 
Till  Night  falls  heavy  as  remembered  sin 
That  will  not  suffer  sleep  or  thought  of  ease. 
And,  hour  on  hour,  the  dry-eyed  Moon  in 

spite 
Glares  through  the    haze  and  mocks  with 
watery  light 
The  torment  of  the  uncomplaining  trees. 

Far  off,  the  Thunder  bellows  her  despair 

To     echoing    Earth,    thrice    parched.      The 

lightnings  fly 
In  vain.    No  help  the  heaped-up  clouds  afford, 
But  wearier  weight  of  burdened,  burning  air. 
What   Truce    with    Dawn  1     Look,  from    the 

aching  sky, 
Day  stalks,  a  tyrant  with  a  flaming  sword  ! 


236  Other  Verses 

IN  SEPTEMBER. 

At  dawn  there  was  a  murmur  in  the  trees, 
A  ripple  on  the  tank,  and  in  the  air 
Presage  of  coming  cooliiess — everywhere 

A  voice  of  prophecy  upon  the  breeze. 

Up  leapt  the  sun  and  smote  the  dust  to  gold, 
And    strove    to    parch    anew   the    heedless 
land, 

All  impotently,  as  a  King  grow^n  old 

Wars  for  the    Empire   crumbling  'neath  his 
hand. 

One  after  one,  the  lotos-petals  fell, 

Beneath  the  onslaught  of  the  rebel  year 

In  mutiny  against  a  furious  sky  ; 

And  far-off  Winter  whispered  :   "  It  is  well ! 

Hot    Summer    dies.        Behold,   your   help  is 

near, 
For  when  men's  need  is  sorest,  then  come  I." 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

Oh,  gallant  was   our  galley  from   her  carven 

steering-wheel 
To  her  figurehead  of  silver  and  her  beak  of 

hammered  steel  ; 
The  leg-bar  chafed  the  ankle,  and  we  gasped 

for  cooler  air, 
But    no  galley  on    the   w^ater  with    our  galley 

could  compare  ! 


The  Galley-Slave  237 

Our   bulkheads   bulged  with   cotton  and  our 

masts  were  stepped  in  gold — 
We  ran  a  mighty  merchandise  of  niggers  in  the 

hold; 
The   white   foam    spun  behind   us,    and  the 

black  shark  swam  below, 
As  we  gripped  the  kicking   sweep-head  and 

we  made  that  galley  go. 

It  was   merry   in    the  galley,  for  we  reveled 

now  and  then — 
If  they   wore    us    down    like    cattle,  faith,  we 

fought  and  loved  like  men  ! 
As  we  snatched  her  through  the  water,  so  we 

snatched  a  minute's  bliss, 
And  the  mutter  of  the  dying  never  spoiled  the 

lover's  kiss. 

Our  women  and  our  children  toiled  beside  us 

in  the  dark — 
They    died,  we    filed  their   fetters,    and    we 

heaved  them  to  the  shark — 
We  heaved  them  to  the  fishes,  but  so  fast  the 

galley  sped, 
We  had  only  time  to  envy,  for  we  could  not 

mourn  our  dead. 


Bear  witness,  once  my  comrades,  what  a  hard, 
bit  gang  were  we — 

The  servants  of  the  sweep-head,  but  the  mas- 
ters of  the  sea ! 


238  other  Verses 

By  the  hands  that  drove  her  forward  as  she 
plunged  and  yawed  and  sheered, 

Woman,  Man,  or  God  or  Devil,  was  there  any- 
thing we  feared  ? 


Was  it   storm  ?     Our  fathers  faced  it,  and  a 

wilder  never  blew  ; 
Earth    that  waited  for  the  wreckage  watched 

the  galley  struggle  through. 
Burning  noon  or  choking  midnight.  Sickness, 

Sorrow,  Parting,   Death  ? 
Nay,  our  very  babes  would  mock  you,  had  they 

time  for  idle  breath. 


But   to-day  I   leave    the   galley,  and   another 

takes  my  place ; 
There's  my  name  upon  the  deck-beam — let  it 

stand  a  little  space. 
I   am  free — to  watch  my  messmates  beating 

out  to  open  main. 
Free  of  all  that  Life  can  offer — save  to  handle 

sweep  again. 

By  the  brand  upon  my  shoulder,  by  the  gall 
of  clinging  steel. 

By  the  welt  the  whips  have  left  me,  by  the 
scars  that  never  heal  ; 

By  eyes  grown  old  with  staring  through  the 
sun-wash  on  the  brine, 

I  am  paid  in  full  for  service — would  that  serv- 
ice still  were  mine  ! 


The  Galley-Slave  239 

Yet  they  talk  of  times  and  seasons  and  of  woe 
the  years  bring  forth, 

Of  our  galley  swamped  and  shattered  in  the 
rollers  of  the  North. 

When  the  niggers  break  the  hatches,  and  the 
decks  are  gay  with  gore, 

And  a  craven-hearted  pilot  crams  her  crash- 
ing on  the  shore. 

She  will  need  no  half-mast  signal,  minute- 
gun,  or  rocket-flare, 

When  the  cry  for  help  goes  seaward,  she  will 
find  her  servants  there. 

Battered  chain-gangs  of  the  orlop,  grizzled 
drafts  of  years  gone  by, 

To  the  bench  that  broke  their  manhood,  they 
shall  lash  themselves  and  die. 


Hale  and  crippled,  young  and  aged,  paid,  de- 
serted, shipped  away — 

Palace,  cot,  and  lazaretto  shall  make  up  the 
tale  that  day. 

When  the  skies  are  black  above  them,  and 
the  decks  ablaze  beneath. 

And  the  top-men  clear  the  raffle  with  their 
clasp-knives  in  their  teeth. 

It  may  be  that  Fate  will  give  me  life  and  leave 

to  row  once  more — 
Set  some    strong    man  free  for  fighting  as  I 

take  awhile  his  oar. 


240  Other  Verses 

But   to-day  I  leave  the  galley.     Shall  I  curse 

her  service  then  ? 
God  be  thanked — whate'er  comes  after,  I  have 

live  and  toiled  with  Men  1 


L'ENVOI 

TO    WHOM    IT     MAY     CONCERN. 

The  smoke  upon  your  Altar  dies, 

The  flowers  decay, 
The  Goddess  of  your  sacrifice 

Has  flown  away. 
What  profit  then  to  sing  or  slay 
The  sacrifice  from  day  to  day  ? 

"We  know  the  Shrine  is  void,"  they  said, 

"  The  Goddess  flown — 
Yet  wreaths  are  on  the  Altar  laid — 

The  Altar-Stone 
Is  black  with  fumes  of  sacrifice, 
Albeit  She  has  fled  our  eyes. 

**For,  it  may  be,  if  still  we  sing 

And  tend  the  Shrine, 
Some  Deity  on   wandering  wing 

May  there  incline  ; 
And,  finding  all  in  order  meet, 
Stay  while  we  worship  at  her  feet." 


Conundrum  of  the  Work-Shops   241 


THE  CONUNDRUM  OF  THE  WORK- 
SHOPS 

When  the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell  first  on 

Eden's  green  and  gold, 
Our  father   Adam    sat    under  the  Tree    and 

scratched  with  a  stick  in  the  mold  ; 
And  the  first  rude  sketch  that  the  world  had 

seen  was  joy  to  his  mighty  heart, 
Till  the  Devil  whispered  behind   the  leaves : 

"  It's  pretty,  but  is  it  art  ?  " 

Wherefore   he   called  to  his  wife,  and  fled  to 

fashion  his  work  anew — 
The  first  of  his  race  who  cared  a  fig  for  the 

first,  most  dread  review  ; 
And  he  left  his  lore  to  the  use  of  his  sons — 

and  that  was  a  glorious  gain 
When  the  Devil  chuckled :     "Is   it   art?"  in 

the  ear  of  the  branded  Cain. 


They  builded   a  tower  to  shiver  the  sky  and 

wrench  the  stars  apart, 
Till   the   Devil   grunted    behind   the   bricks: 

"  It's  striking,  but  is  it  art  ?  " 
The  stone  was  dropped  by  the  quarry-side, 

and  the  idle  derrick  swung. 
While  each  man  talked  of  the  aims  of  art,  and 

each  in  an  alien  tongue. 
16 


242  Other  Verses 

They  fought  and  they  talked  in  the  north  and 

the  south,  they  talked  and  then  fought  in 

the  west, 
Till  the  water  rose  on  the  jabbering  land,  and 

the  poor  Red  Clay  had  rest — 
Had   rest    till    the    dank  blank-canvas   dawn 

when  the  dove  was  preened  to  start, 
And  the  Devil  bubbled  below  the  keel:  "It's 

human,  but  is  it  art  ? " 

The  tale  is  old  as  the  Eden  Tree — as  new  as 

the  new-cut  tooth — 
For  each  man  knows  ere  his  lip-thatch  grows 

he  is  master  of  art  and  truth  ; 
And  each  man  hears  as  the  twilight  nears,  to 

the  beat  of  his  dying  heart, 
The    Devil    drum   on    the     darkened   pane  : 

"  You  did  it,  but  was  it  art  ? " 

We  have  learned  to  whittle  the  Eden  Tree  to 

the  shape  of  a  surplice-peg, 
We   have   learned  to  bottle  our  parents  twain 

in  the  yolk  of  an  addled  egg, 
We   know  that  the   tail  must  wag  the   dog,  as 

the  horse  is  drawn  by  the  cart ; 
Sut  the  Devil  whoops,  as  he  whooped  of  old: 

"  It's  clever,  but  is  it  art  ?  " 

When  the  flicker  of  London  sun  falls  faint  on 
the  club-room's  green  and  gold. 

The  sons  of  Adam  sit  them  down  and  scratch 
with  their  pens  in  the  mold — 


The  Explanation  243 

They  scratch  with  their  pens  in  the  mold  of 
their  graves,  and  the  ink  and  the  anguish 
start 

When  the  Devil  mutters  behind  the  leaves : 
*'  It's  pretty,  but  is  it  art  ? " 

Now,  if  we  could  win  to  the  Eden  Tree  where 

the  four  great  rivers  flow. 
And  the  wreath  of  Eve  is  red  on  the  turf   as 

she  left  it  long  ago, 
And  if  we  could  come  when  the  sentry  slept> 

and  softly  scurry  through, 
By  the  favor  of  God  we  might  know  as  much 

— as  our  father  Adam  knew. 


THE  EXPLANATION 

Love   and    Death   once    ceased    their   strife 

At  the  Tavern  of  Man's  Life. 

Called  for  wine,  and  threw — alas  ! — 

Each  his  quiver  on  the  grass. 

When  the  bout  was  o'er  they  found 

Mingled  arrows  strewed  the  ground. 

Hastily  they  gathered  then 

Each  the  loves  and  lives  of  men. 

Ah,  the  fateful  dawn  deceived ! 

Mingled  arrows  each  one  sheaved: 

Death's  dread  armory  was  stored 

With  the  shafts  he  most  abhorred : 

Love's  light  quiver  groaned  benea^ 

Veiiora-headed  darts  of  Death. 


244  Other  Verses 

Thus  it  was  they  wrought  our  woe 

At  the  Tavern  long  ago. 

Tell  me,  do  our  masters  know, 

Loosing  blindly  as  they  fly, 

Old  men  love  while  young  men  die? 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  SEA 

The  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 

And  the  vvddow  watched  beside  ; 
And  her  mother  slept,  and  the  Channel  swept 

The  gale  in  the  teeth  of  the  tide. 

But  the  widow  laughed  at  all. 

"  I  have  lost  my  man  in  the  sea, 
And  the  child  is  dead.      Be  still,"   she  said, 

*'  What  more  can  ye  do  to  me  ? " 

And  the  widow  watched  the  dead, 

And  the  candle  guttered  low, 
And  she  tried  to  sing  the  Passing  Song 

That  bids  the  poor  soul  go. 

And  "  Mary  take  you  now,"  she  sang, 

"That  lay  against  my  heart." 
And  "Mary  smooth  your  crib  to-night," 

But  she  could  not  say  "  Depart." 


The  Gift  of  The  Sea        245 

Then  came  a  cry  from  the  sea, 

But  the  sea-rime  blinded  the  glass, 

And  "  Heard  ye  nothing,  mother  ? "  she  said ; 
"  'Tis  the  child  that  waits  to  pass." 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed. 

*'  'Tis  a  lambing  ewe  in  the  whin. 
For  why  should  the  christened  soul  cry  out, 

That  never  knew  of  sin  ?  " 

"  Oh,  feet  I  have  held  in  my  hand, 

Oh.  hands  at  my  heart  to  catch, 
How  should  they  know  the  road  to  go, 

And  how  should  they  lift  the  latch  ?  " 

They  laid  a  sheet  to  the  door, 

With  the  little  quilt  atop, 
That  it  might  not  hurt  from  the  cold  or  the 
dirt. 

But  the  crying  would  not  stop. 

» 
The  widow  lifted  the  latch 

And  strained  her  eyes  to  see, 
And  opened  the  door  on  the  bitter  shore 

To  let  the  soul  go  free. 

There  was  neither  glimmer  nor  ghost. 
There  was  neither  spirit  nor  spark. 

And  "  Heard  ye  nothing,  mother  ?  "  she  said; 
"  'Tis  crying  for  me  in  the  dark." 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed, 

'*  'Tis  sorrow  makes  ye  dull  ; 
Have  ye  yet  to  learn  the  cry  of  the  tern, 

Or  the  wail  of  the  wind-blown  gull  ? " 


246  other  Verses 

"The  terns  are  blown  inland, 
The  gray  gull  follows  the  plow. 

'Twas  never  a  bird,  the  voice  I  heard, 
O  mother,  I  hear  it  now !  " 


"  Lie  still,  dear  lamb,  lie  still ; 

The  child  is  passed  from  harm, 
'Tis  the  ache  in  your  breast  that  broke  your 
rest, 

And  the  feel  of  an  empty  arm." 

She  puts  her  mother  aside, 

"  In  Mary's  name  let  be  ! 
For  the  peace  of  my  soul  I  must  go,"  she  said, 

And  she  went  to  the  calling  sea. 

In  the  heel  of  the  wind-bit  pier, 

Where  the  twisted  weed  was  piled, 

So  came  to  the  life  she  had  missed  by  an  hour, 
For  she  came  to  a  little  child. 


She  laid  it  into  her  breast. 

And  back  to  her  mother  she  came, 

But  it  would  not  feed,  and  it  would  not  heed, 
Though  she  gave  it  her  own  child's  name. 


And  the  dead  child  dripped  on  her  breast, 
And  her  own  in  the  shroud  lay  stark  ; 

And,  "  God  forgive  us,  mother,"  she  said, 
"We  let  it  die  in  the  dark  !" 


Evarra  and  His  Gods       247 


EVARRA  AND  HIS  GODS 

Read  here, 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  gave  him  of  her  gold, 
Because  the  caravans  brought  turquoises, 
Because  his  life  was  sheltered  by  the  King, 
So  that  no   man    should   maim    him,  none 

should  steal, 
Or  break  his  rest  with  babble  in  the  streets 
When  he  was  weary  after  toil,  he  made 
An  image  of  his  God  in  gold  and  pearl. 
With  turquoise  diadem  and  human  eyes, 
A  wonder  in  the  sunshine,  known  afar 
And  worshiped    by  the   King  ;  but,  drunk 

with  pride. 
Because  the  city  bowed  to  him  for  God, 
He  wrote  above  the    shrine  ;   *'  Thus    Gods 

are  made, 
And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die ^ 
And  all  the  city  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he 

died. 

Read  here  the  stoiy  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  his  city  had  no  wealth  to  give. 
Because  the  caravans  were  spoiled  afar, 
Because  his  life  was  threatened  by  the  King, 
So  that  all  men  despised  him  in  the  streets, 


248  Other  Verses 

He  hacked  the  living  rock,  with  sweat  and 

tears, 
And  reared  a  God  against  the  morning-gold, 
A  terror  in  the  sunshine,  seen  afar. 
And  worshiped  by  the    King ;  but,   drunk 

with  pride, 
Because  the  city  fawned  to  bring  him  back, 
He    carved  upon  the  plinth  :  ^'Thus    Gods 

are  made, 
And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  dieJ^ 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.    .  .  .  Then 

he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  he  lived  among  a  simple  folk, 
Because  his  village  was  between  the  hills. 
Because  he  smeared  his   cheeks  with  blood 

of  ewes, 
He  cut  an  idol  from  a  fallen  pine. 
Smeared  blood  upon  its  cheeks,  and  wedged 

a  shell 
Above  its  brows  for  eye,  and  gave  it  hair 
Of  trailing    moss,    and    plaited    straw   for 

crown. 
And   all  the  village  praised  him    for    this 

craft, 
And  brought   him  butter,  honey,  milk,  and 

curds. 
Wherefore,  because  the  shoutings  drove  him 

mad. 
He  scratched  upon  that  log  :  "  Thus  Gods 

are  made, 


Evarra  and  His  Gods       249 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die''' 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.   .   .  .  Then 
he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

Because  his  God  decreed  one  clot  of  blood 
Should    swerve    a   hair's-breadth  from  the 

pulse's  path, 
And  chafe  his  brain,  Evarra  mowed  alone, 
Rag-wrapped,    among    the     cattle    in     the 

fields, 
Counting  his  fingers,  jesting  with  the  trees, 
And  mocking  at  the  mist,  until  his  God 
Drove    him    to    labor.     Out    of    dung    and 

horns 
Dropped  in  the  mire  he  made  a  monstrous 

God, 
Abhorrent,  shapeless,  crowned  with  plain- 
tain  tufts. 
And  when  the  cattle  lowed  at  twilight-time, 
He     dreamed    it    was    the     clamor  of  lost 

crowds. 
And    howled    among   the    beasts  :    "  Thus 

Gods  are  made, 
And  whoso  snakes  them  otherwise  shall  die. ''^ 
Thereat  the  cattle  bellowed.  .  .   .   Then  he 

died. 

Yet  at  the  last  he  came  to  Paradise, 

And  found  his  own  four  Gods,  and  that  he 

wrote  ; 
And  marveled,  being  very  near  to  God, 


250  Other  Verses 

What  oaf  on  earth  had  made  his  toil  God's 

law, 
Till    God    said,     mocking :    "  Mock     not. 

These  be  thine." 
Then  cried  Evarra :  "  I  have  sinned  !  " — 

"  Not  so. 
If  thou  hadst  written  otherwise,  thy  Gods 
Had  rested  in  the  mountain  and  the  mine, 
And    I    were    poorer    by    four    wondrous 

Gods, 
And    thy    more     wondrous     law,    Evarra. 

Thine, 
Servant   of   shouting    crowds    and   lowing 

kine." 
Thereat    with    laughing    mouth,  but    tear- 
wet  eyes, 
Evarra  cast  his  Gods  from  Paradise. 
This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — maji — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  laiids  beyond  the  sea. 


The  Vampire  251 


THE  VAMPIRE 

(As  suggested  by  the  Painting  by  Philip  Burne-fones.) 

A  FOOL  there  was  and  he  made  his  prayer 

(Even  as  you  and  I !) 
To  a  rag  and  a  bone  and  a  hank  of  hair 
(We  called  her  the  woman  who  did  not  care), 
But  the  fool  he  called  her  his  lady  fair 

(Even  as  you  and  I  !) 

Oh  the  years  we  waste  and  the  tears  we  waste 
And  the  work  of  our  head  and  hand 
Belong  to  the  woman  who  did  not  know 
(And  now  we  know  that  she  never  could 
know) 
And  did  not  understand. 

A  fool  there  was  and  his  goods  he  spent 

(Even  as  you  and  I  !) 
Honor  and  faith  and  a  sure  intent 
(And  it  wasn't  the  least  what  the  lady  meant). 
But  a  fool  must  follow  his  natural  bent 

(Even  as  you  and  I  !) 

Oh  the  toil  we  lost  and  the  spoil  we  lost 
And  the  excellent  things  we  planned 
Belong  to  the  woman  who  didn't  know  why 
(And  now  we  know  she  never  knew  why) 
And  did  not  understand. 


252  Other  Verses 

The  fool  was  stripped  to  his  foolish  hide 

(Even  as  you  and  I !) 
Which  she  might  have  seen  when  she  threw 

him  aside — 
(But  it  isn't  on  record  the  lady  tried) 
So  some  of  him  lived  but  the  most  of  him 
died — 
(Even  as  you  and  I !) 

And  it  isn't  the  shame  and  it  isn't  the  blame 
That  stings  like  a  white-hot  brand. 
It's  coming  to  know  that  she  never  knew  why 
(Seeing  at  last  she  could  never  know  why) 
And  never  could  understand. 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 

A  NATION  spoke  to  a  nation, 

A  Queen  sent  word  to  a  throne  : 
Daughter  am  I  in  my  mother's  house, 

But  mistress  in  my  own. 
The  gates  are  mine  to  open 

As  the  gates  are  mine  to  close, 
And  I  set  my  house  in  order, 

Said  the  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

Neither  with  laughter  nor  weeping, 

Fear  or  the  child's  amaze, 
Soberly  under  the  white  man's  law 

My  white  men  go  their  ways. 
Not  for  the  Gentile's  clamor, 

Insult  or  threat  of  blows, 
Bow  we  the  knee  of  Baal, 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 


Our  Lady  of  the  Snows      253 

Mv  speech  is  clear  and  single, 

I  talk  of  common  things, 
Words  of  the  wharf  or  market-place 

And  the  ware  the  merchant  brings. 
Favor  to  those  I  favor, 

But  a  stumbling-block  for  my  foes, 
Many  there  be  that  hate  us, 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

I  called  my  chiefs  to  council, 

In  the  din  of  a- troubled  year, 
For  the  sake  of  a  sign  ye  would  not  see 

And  a  word  ye  would  not  hear. 
This  is  our  message  and  answer 

This  is  the  path  we  chose, 
For  we  be  also  a  people, 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

Carry  the  word  to  my  Sisters, 

To  the  Queens  of  the  East  and  South, 
I  have  proved  faith  in  the  heritage 

By  more  than  a  word  of  mouth. 
They  that  are  wise  may  follow, 

Ere  the  world's  war-trumpet  blows, 
But  I,  I  am  first  m  the  battle, 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

A  nation  spoke  to  a  nation. 

A  Queen  sent  word  to  a  throne : 
Daughter  am  I  in  my  mother's  house, 

But  mistress  in  my  own. 
The  gates  are  mine  to  open 

As  the  gates  are  mine  to  close, 
And  I  abide  in  my  mother's  house, 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 


I 


254  Other  Verses 


RECESSIONAL 

{A  Victorian  Ode) 

God  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old — 
Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle  line — 

Beneath  whose  awful  hand  we  hold 
Dominion  over  palm  tind  pine — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget ! 

The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies — 

The  Captains  and  the  Kings  depart- 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice, 
An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart. 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget ! 

Far-called,  our  navies  melt  away — 

On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire— 

Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 
Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre  ! 

Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget ! 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 

Wild  tongues  that  have  not  thee  in  awe- 
Such  boasting  as  the  Gentiles  use. 

Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget ! 


Recessional  255 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard — 

All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 
And  guarding  calls  not  Thee  to  guard. 

For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word, 

Thy  Mercy  on  Thy  People,  Lord ! 

Amen, 


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